


Don't Be Afraid To Catch Feels (Just Avoid Them)

by CyberjenicPanda



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, At Least Bones Thinks So, Bones Is A Stubborn Idiot, By ‘We’ I Mean Kirk And Spock, Established James T. Kirk/Spock, Eventual Happy Ending, Everyone Is Accident Prone, Except For Those Included In The Relationships, Getting Hurt Reveals Feelings, Hurt James T. Kirk, Hurt Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Hurt Spock (Star Trek), Hurt/Comfort, Leonard "Bones" McCoy Whump, Leonard "Bones" McCoy-centric, M/M, Most Of The Crew Only Make Minor/Brief Appearances, Multi, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Only near the end tho, POV Alternating, POV Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Pining, Protective Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Sick Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Slow Burn, Sort Of, but we love him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22892419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberjenicPanda/pseuds/CyberjenicPanda
Summary: One of them is eventually going to get hurt. Unpredictableness wins out against logic, a tactical move unfortunately made with an unknown but grave error, or just sheer bad luck. Such are the perils of being a Starfleet officer.For these three, it just always seems to bite them enough in the ass to hurt, but never to take them out completely (you can thank Leonard for that).Some would call it a blessing, others a curse.For them, it's Wednesday.Or, the story of how, just maybe, they might realise that whenever one of them gets hurt, one or both of the others are never far behind. And maybe there’s a reason behind that other than them just being Good Little Starfleet Officers™.Or, the triumvirate get hurt a lot and realise they have feelings.
Relationships: Christine Chapel & Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock, Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Nyota Uhura
Comments: 88
Kudos: 210





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> O-kay, this is a big one guys.  
> At around ~38k+ words (in 7 parts), this is by far my biggest uploaded fanfic to date. I think it’s fitting that it should be McSpirk. Uploads will be about once a week, but in saying that they will largely be dependent on how quickly I get around to proof-reading.  
> (Rated T for minor swearing and descriptions of injuries. Neither of them get very graphic, however.)  
> Also, big thanks to [catonsteroids](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miridescent/pseuds/catonsteroids) for beta’ing for me!

Leonard decided that, until such time that he saw fit, Captain James T. Kirk of the USS  _ Enterprise, _ would never be allowed on another damn away mission. 

He, of course, had this near exact thought the last time Jim returned broken and bloodied from his own cursed luck, and the time before that too. Come to think of it, he’d probably had that thought more times than he had breathed. And yet, despite Leonard's best efforts, Jim continued to participate in away missions. Leonard had half a mind to attach one of those old fashioned harnesses to Jim, like one would a particularly enthusiastic dog, so that when the inevitable injury happened, at least Leonard would be within arms reach. 

This time, he wasn't within arms reach, but at least he wasn't cooped up on the tin can, left to do nothing but bite his nails and snap at everyone in Sickbay. He figured Christine would be happy that she, along with M’Benga, didn't have to deal with the brunt of his unbridled annoyance at one Jim Kirk. 

Smoke and sprays of grit filled his vision, but he paid it all no mind as he hastily wrapped a phaser wound that took up far too much of Sulu’s leg for his liking. As barbaric as it was, Leonard didn't have anything better to work with, his hand-held dermal regenerator in fractured pieces beside him. 

Another blast, and another instinctive duck, his hands not once wavering from their task, he tied the final knot in the makeshift bandage. Happy with his work for now, Sulu took his dropped hands as an impatient invitation to reclaim his phaser and twist around, firing shots off through the haze. 

Yet another blast, this time close enough that the shaking ground traveled up through his boots, setting his teeth on edge and his jaw into a hard line.  _ That one was far too close, damnit, though Spock and Jim would have had it wor- _

Leonard snapped over to where the two were hunched behind a chunk of wall, and his blood ran cold at the sight of Jim, slouched against the wall with something far too large and red-stained protruding from his chest. He edged closer to the boundary of the modicum of safety he shared with Sulu and a red shirt whom he honestly couldn't remember the name of, but was promptly and swiftly reminded that  _ leaning out from behind their cover while being shot at _ was a horrible idea when an errant phaser bolt flew mere inches from his nose. 

Leonard couldn't have jumped back faster if he tried, but he saw what he needed. 

It seemed to be a chunk of rebar reinforced concrete, about half the length of his forearm, and the angle and position of it was far too worrisome for him to ignore. 

His mind helpfully supplied him the timings Jim had shouted into his communicator -the only way to be heard over the explosions, even though they were barely more than a stone’s throw from each other- backup was still several minutes out. That was of course assuming they ran into no hitches at all in trying to get to their current pinned down position. 

Leonard glanced back at Jim. 

Jim didn't have several minutes, that much he was certain. 

In one swift movement he crawled over to Sulu, practically shouting in his ear to be heard over the racket.

“Cover me!” He wasn't sure if Sulu heard him, considering Leonard could barely hear himself think, let alone talk, but Sulu merely half turned to him, offering a single nod before peering over the edge and firing off a rather impressive volley. 

Taking that as his cue, Leonard sprang up from their current hiding spot and sprinted the short but impossibly long distance towards Spock and Jim. 

His world narrowed to simply getting to Jim as fast as possible, lungs burning as they ached to spasm at the particulates that he sucked in, but he squashed the feeling down, he’d have time to hack up his lungs later. His sprinting came to a stop with an inelegant slide that took him the rest of the way. 

Something sharp stung in his upper arm, but he paid it no heed as he awkwardly rolled and pulled himself up next to Jim, who had been watching his daring display with no amount of barely contained distress (Spock had also turned to look at the display briefly, but with a far more ‘Vulcan’ level of concern, which was the same amount, just more well hidden). Leonard could see that Jim wanted to give him a piece of his mind, the words ‘reckless endangerment’ and ‘inadequate risk assessment’ no doubt being among them. 

Leonard couldn't care less so long as Jim was actually alive to deliver those chastisements. 

Now that he was up close, the wound looked no better, and for a brief moment he felt overwhelmed, on the verge of panic as he realised that  _ Jim had a huge chunk of concrete stuck in him _ , but it was quickly squashed down by a wave of professionalism. It would do neither him nor Jim any favours if he lost his nerve.

He whipped out his tricorder in one smooth movement, not wasting any time in gathering his readings. The results were less than helpful nor very easy to read with the flickering and no doubt internally damaged display: Punctured lung, any moron could have guessed that from the angle and depth, and internal hemorrhaging, again, only an idiot would have argued otherwise. The screen flickered again, still not showing him half the relevant information it should be, and so he gave it a decisive, yet hopeful thump. 

Half a second passed before it made an awful crackling noise and turned off entirely.

Releasing an aggrieved sigh, he stuffed the decidedly useless and most certainly broken tricorder back into his pocket. Coming to the conclusion that a visual inspection would likely be more helpful, he leant in close to inspect Jim thoroughly. 

The pallor of his face was worrisome, as was the slight blue tinge to his lips, and he was not reassured in the slightest when he took Jim’s pulse and found himself wanting. Taking the chunk out would be fatal, despite the pain it no doubt caused Jim on each inhale and exhale, and the only thing Leonard could do to help right now was to slow down the bleeding; anything more complicated could wait until he was shipside and actually had medical equipment. 

He pressed down firmly around the wound, trying to be careful but still eliciting a pained grunt from Jim. At least that was a point in his favour; Jim was still conscious and cognizant to pain, not that Leonard found that fact particularly enjoyable. 

Spock was shouting something, Leonard was sure of it, so he half twisted away from Jim to fix his stare on the hobgoblin, instantly noting and disliking the green blood he found smeared across half the man’s face. Spock was shouting again, but nothing audible seemed to be coming out of his mouth; he really hoped that it was just a side effect of all the explosions and not the impending possibility of an aneurysm. 

Leonard shook his head vigorously back at Spock, hoping he was accurately conveying the idea of ‘I’ve gone deaf, and I don't have your perfect Vulcan ears, so speak up, goddamnit!’ Spock seemed to realise what he was saying, or at least the confusion surrounding their ‘conversation’ so jerked his shoulder in the direction behind them. Twisting around proper this time, still keeping a firm hold on Jim, he sagged minutely with relief once he saw the familiar and soothing red uniforms of their backup. 

Spock was being a mime again, so Leonard turned back to him in time to see his gesture at Jim, and then at the newly arrived officers, one hand already slipping underneath Jim’s legs. A quick nod, and Leonard was pulling out his communicator, and he wasn't sure whether or not he was shouting -everything was worryingly muted- but they seemed to understand, firing into the haze beyond Leonard. Their assailants were pulling back, apparently having realised that backup had arrived for them, and that it probably wouldn't be a good idea to stick around. 

_ Thank God.  _

In one swift movement that had Leonard reeling from the abruptness of it, Spock disappeared in a blur with Jim cradled to his chest, his long legs taking him mere moments to catch up with the rest of the away party that was hunkered further back (Leonard absolutely did  _ not _ admire Spock’s backside as he ran off -they were in the middle of a war zone,  _ damnit, _ he was more professional than that). 

The explosions had all but ceased, but the worrying ringing in his ears remained, and he shook his head briefly to try and clear it. After several failed attempts he ducked back over to his original cover, only the occasional potshot being fired off now, infrequent enough that he didn't have to think about it too much. 

He grabbed Sulu underneath one of his arms, that unnamed red shirt from before grasping onto Sulu’s other side, and between the two of them they hoisted the injured helmsman to his feet. 

What followed next was a blur, a hurried daze of hauling Sulu back into transporter range, the worrying disassembling of his atoms, and then a mad dash back to Sickbay, Sulu leaving his side at some point to be replaced by Jim on a stretcher. 

Several hours had passed, Leonard wasn't entirely sure how many (he was sure Spock would know, but he didn't want to give that pointy-eared bastard the satisfaction), but everyone who had required immediate medical attention had been attended to. Most of his time had been spent reconstructing Jim’s chest and fervently trying to keep the man from bleeding out on the operating table. 

He was grateful for the rest of his team, who’d patched up the less pressing cases, leaving him to focus solely on Jim alongside M’Benga. After everything had settled down and he finally had a moment to breathe, he stood next to an unconscious Jim, checking his vitals for the umpteenth time. He wasn't exactly worried that they might change, he just found the action reassuring, and he sure as hell needed a lot of that right now. 

So engrossed was he (and with his hearing still on the mend), that he didn't notice Spock hovering next to him for several moments, only breaking out of his reverie when the Vulcan spoke.

“His condition remains unchanged since the last time you checked, Doctor.” Leonard startled hard, dropping his PADD onto Jim’s legs, his other hand shooting up to clutch at his chest.

“Are you trying to give me a damn heart attack!?” Leonard hissed, furtively trying to calm his racing pulse and livewire reactions -he was far too strung out to be playing ‘scare-the-doctor’ with Spock right now. Spock merely regarded him for a moment, eyes narrowed in that irritating way of his, with that distinct look he got whenever he was analysing something particularly interesting. No doubt Spock was cataloguing his wide eyes and erratic breathing, and trying to logic out the cause behind it.

“That was not my intention, Doctor,” Spock responded after a few moments of blatant scrutiny, during which Leonard tried to keep himself from fidgeting. At that he just rolled his eyes, purposefully turning away from Spock, scooping up his PADD on his way to the head of Jim’s bed, fiddling with the dials at the headrest, responding to Spock as he did so.

“Well, if it ain’t your intention, maybe refrain from doing it as damn often, then,” Leonard grumbled under his breath, knowing that Spock with his superhuman ears would be able to easily pick up the muttered words. 

“I shall endeavour to refrain from startling you next time, Doctor.” Leonard turned to fix him with a withering look, but found the Vulcan staring at his arm, much like M’Benga had been doing before he had not so subtly told him to professionally get lost.

“What? I got something on my face?” Spock’s eyes snapped up to fix him with a piercing gaze, much like the one he gave Jim whenever he was being particularly stubborn about an injury. Confusion rippled through Leonard, as his brows furrowed of their own accord.  _ “What,” _ he snapped when he didn't get an answer. 

Some part of him was aware that his words were perhaps a bit too harsh, but this was the first moment he had had where he wasn't running around like a maniac, too high on adrenaline to even think about himself, so overwhelmed with the need to make sure nobody was going to die. He was spent, exhausted, and in no mood for trying to figure out what the Vulcan was trying to non-verbally tell him.

“I was merely wondering when you yourself would be seeking medical attention.” 

Leonard’s mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to figure out what in the hell Spock was talking about. He didn't  _ feel _ injured, but that didn't necessarily mean anything; he’d had it drilled into him in the academy about what shock and adrenaline could do to the brain when it came to pain responses. 

So, he started with where Spock’s gaze had been a moment ago and blinked in surprise when he found the sleeve of his uniform charred and blackened. 

It was a phaser wound, maybe half an inch deep at its center, the blood long since dried, staining his blue uniform a ghastly reddish brown. 

He hadn't even realised. When had he gotten that? 

Leonard tried to think back to the latest firefight, but found the memory too much of a mish-mashed blur to be helpful. (He briefly thought about asking Spock, but he really didn't want to have to deal with the superiority complex that would follow such an inquiry.)

“Oh,” Leonard blurted out after several moments of awkward silence. Spock inclined his head minutely, in what Leonard had come to associate as his version of concern. As Leonard was mutely staring at his upper arm, slightly dumbfounded, Spock took a half step back, indicating that he wanted Leonard to follow him. 

Trailing after Spock, who led them both out of the long term ward and back into the main section, effectively grabbing Christine’s attention with a single gesture of his head. Recognizing what the Vulcan had to offer, she came over, snagging a dermal regenerator and a tricorder as she went.

“Finally got him to focus on himself for once?” she asked, a gruff sort of affection to her voice that she usually reserved for her particularly troublesome patients. Leonard had previously thought he hadn't yet made that list.

“It took some doing, but yes,” Spock responded with a slight nod, clasping his hands behind his back as he stared expectantly at Leonard. An incredulous glance between the two of them lead to Leonard huffing in annoyance, before he dutifully hopped onto a biobed. 

He was still better than Jim, after all. 

~

It was quite a while later when he made his way to hover over Jim’s bed once again, absentmindedly checking his vitals, just to cement the fact in his head that  _ Jim was fine. _

He’d sent Spock off some time ago, threatened him with a medical discharge if he didn't rest, goddamnit. As superhuman as that damned Vulcan was, everyone needed a break, and while Spock would never admit it, their latest mission had him spent, and if he’d have been anything closer to human he would have already collapsed. It was frankly a miracle he hadn't already. 

Leonard sighed, long and drawn out, the weary kind that spoke more of his exhaustion than anything else.

“Something on your mind?” a weak voice asked him, and in Leonard's ruminating he hadn't realised that his most troublesome patient had awoken. 

The hand holding the tricorder fell onto Jim’s bed, leaving his bitch-face on full display. It had the desired effect and Jim squirmed momentarily before Leonard let him off the hook a bit, only because the doctor in him knew that any movement might upset the healing wounds on his chest.

“Just about how I can't leave you alone for more than five seconds.” The grumble came easily to Leonard, and he desperately tried to keep on an angry face as Jim smiled at him disarmingly, just the right blend of ‘Jim’ and shit-eating.

“As many as that? Why, I must be getting better then, ‘cause I distinctly remember a time when it was only an instant.” Leonard huffed and crossed his arms, and had half a mind to flick Jim’s nose. Jim beamed at him for a moment and then tried to shift, immediately wincing. All pretense of anger evaporated from Leonard as he rushed forward to help Jim into a more comfortable position, hands light and careful. 

“I really wish you wouldn't do that,” Leonard muttered, and Jim fixed him with a wounded look for a second before he smirked slightly, the same smirk he got whenever he was about to say something cheeky, while something indescribable danced just behind his eyes.

“What? Moving? Or getting injured?” 

Leonard glared at him. 

Jim had the gall to look sheepish.

“Nevermind,” Leonard muttered, turning away and about to leave Jim’s bedside when a hand snapped out to snatch his arm. 

“Wait, no, Bones…” Leonard turned back to him, trying to ignore the goosebumps that pebbled up on his arm. Jim let him go, a reticent look taking over his eyes, swallowing the previous emotion that Leonard hadn't been able to deduce. “Y’know I don't do this on purpose, right? It isn't my life mission to make you stressed out.” 

Jim looked sufficiently guilty, and even if he hadn’t, Leonard knew that he didn't do it on purpose, it was just an unfortunate part of the James T. Kirk condition.

“Coulda fooled me,” he sassed, making sure to inject enough affection into his voice that Jim wouldn't take him seriously, even allowing a ghost of a smile to grace his lips. Jim just smiled radiantly back at him, and he tried to squash down the nervous flutter his heart made. He reached around to pull a chair over and sat down in it, pulling out his PADD. “Now you get some rest, you hear me? I don't want you trying to make an escape attempt either, mister, so perish that thought now.” Jim just smiled cheekily back at him, nodding listlessly a few times before his eyes slid shut and his breathing almost immediately evened out. 

Leonard smiled to himself, a small, content thing. Seeing Jim sleeping reminded Leonard of his own weariness, but he roughly shook his head, he had far too much paperwork to do to be worrying about that. While he would no doubt be more efficient in his office, he didn't have the heart to leave Jim alone right now, even if the man was asleep. 

With that thought, he nestled himself further into the chair and let out a long, aggrieved sigh as he started the grueling process of paperwork.

~

Leonard entered the mess hall after a fairly relaxed shift. 

The latest away mission gone wrong had long since blown over by now, and all he and the rest of his staff could do was anxiously wait for the next one to come along. Away missions going wrong was much like the tide, not a question of if, but more a question of when and how bad. 

He sighed and scrubbed his face with one hand, they were overdue for a bad away mission. 

Spock would no doubt say that such thinking was illogical, and that while there might be empirical evidence to suggest when an errant mission might occur and to prepare for such an occasion, it was nonetheless inefficient to dread its impending approach. 

Such ‘illogical thinking’ did not stop Leonard from worrying. 

He looked up, hoping to either spot either Jim or Spock, or alternatively an empty table. He saw neither of the three, and was thus forced to make a snap decision. Sit with some people he didn't really know and be forced to endure an unpleasant conversation while he tried to eat, or simply turn around and leave, either getting food later or just using the shoddy replicator in Jim’s quarters. 

Just as he was contemplating his decision, his eyes roamed over a table that had been claimed by the alpha shift bridge crew and a few others. He smiled, mind made up, and went to grab himself a small bowl of salad. 

As he drew near, a bowl of salad in hand, he couldn't help but notice the air of scheming that hung around the table, and the look in the officers’ eyes that could only either mean trouble or gossip. 

He hoped it was the latter. 

Normally, Leonard wasn't one to engage in that type of stuff, but the looming threat of an away mission was messing with his head enough as it was, and he found himself thinking,  _ what the hell? _ He smiled wanly, aware of the fact that his status as a ‘commanding officer’ often lead to people quietening in his presence and subtly and quickly shifting to more acceptable topics of discussion. 

Today seemed to be an outlier, and from what he could tell the conversation continued as it had. Scotty and Keenser were engaged in some other discussion, seemingly separate from the rest of the table, heads bent and minds clearly engrossed in the PADDs they had in front of them. Chekov and Sulu however seemed to be having a rather animated discussion (see: near argument) over something, while Uhura just smiled exasperatedly and shook her head at the two of them, clearly amused by their antics as she picked over her salad, while the command officers plates went untouched, practically forgotten. 

Leonard sat to Uhura’s left, eyeing the two arguing officers with a similar level of amusement as she had, and leaned in closely.

“Just what exactly are they arguing about?” he asked Uhura, deciding that if he wanted a coherent non-screechy answer, she would be the one to ask. She turned her amused look away from them to focus her attention on him. 

“Apparently, Pavel thinks that one of the new additions in Security is flirting with him, while Hikaru is trying to explain that someone being nice to you does not instantly mean that they like you.”

“Ah, one of those.” He paused briefly to spear a leaf and eat it. “Well, in your infinite wisdom, what do you think?”

“I’ll be honest, it just sounds like he’s trying to be polite, but I wouldn't mention that to Pavel, he might just throttle you.” McCoy snorted, turning his attention back to the two of them, just as Chekov declared loudly.

“Fine! Can ve agree to disagree? I think yes, you think no, this conwersation is not going anyvhere.”

“Alright, so long as you agree to let  _ him _ make the first move.” Chekov huffed, looking like a thoroughly put out child before tersely nodding his head. Scotty chose that moment to finally emerge from his PADDs, and had apparently been waiting for such a sentence.

“I cannae believe it! Does that mean ye two are  _ finally _ done?” Sulu chuckled as Chekov’s expression only proved to sour further.

“Yes, I think we’re quite done,” Sulu answered for both of them, raising an eyebrow that dared Chekov to argue otherwise.

“Finally! I thought ye we’re gonna make me die o’ old age before ye finished.”

“Vhat could possibly be important?”

“Well, why the bet, o’ course!” 

At this, Leonard turned to the Scotsman, anything that had him this enthused had to be good (see: nothing but trouble).

“And which one would that be?” Leonard drawled, mind flicking over the various bets that had occurred during his time aboard  _ Enterprise, _ and deciding that this one had to be pretty special to have garnered this much passion from the chief engineer. Beside him, Uhura tensed, and he had but a brief moment to wonder why before his question was answered. 

“Gettin’ the Capt’n and Spock to finally admit their undyin’ love for each other,” Scotty announced, perhaps a tad too cheerfully for the wave of dismay that echoed through Leonard, his insides deciding that they wanted to twist themselves into knots. 

Well, at least that explained why Uhura was so tense. 

He carefully schooled his features into a facsimile of mildly interested neutrality and tilted his head, abandoning his food in front of him, his stomach revolting violently at the mere thought of eating. 

“Oh? Tell me, just how do you expect to do that?” He leaned on his arm, elbow propped up on the table, focusing his attention fully on Scotty.

“That's on Uhura, laddie.” Something close to betrayal slithered through him, and he tried to not show the hurt on his face as he turned to her expectantly, one eyebrow raised. In her defence, she did seem geniunely regretful. He’d have to ask her about it later, now was neither the time nor the place.

“Hm, is that so? I take it the current bet is how long it’ll take?” Scotty nodded his head impatiently, clearly anticipating Leonard to pull something unexpected on him. Leonard grinned in the most Jim way he could muster and leaned forward conspiratorially. “In that case I propose an amendment.” He had the whole table’s attention now, as well as the attention of a few neighbouring tables who were desperately trying to hide the fact that they were eavesdropping. “How about instead, we make it a bet to see who can get them together first. Me or Uhura.” 

Scotty seemed to consider his words for a moment, and Keenser looked far too gleeful for anyone’s good, while Sulu and Chekov broke out into grins, their earlier spat all but forgotten. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Uhura fixed him with such a piercing look, and he tried not to squirm under the intensity of it. 

Perhaps if he played matchmaker for the two of them it would help him get his mind off the intense feeling of… well. What everybody else seemed to think Jim and Spock shared. 

Knowing that the table, and surely anybody else who had placed a bet, would agree to his amendment, he scooped up his bowl and left the mess hall, trying to make it look like he wasn't running to get out of there.


	2. Chapter 2

Leonard hated the cold. 

One of the many ups and downs of being raised in southern Georgia was that he had very little frame of reference for what passed as cold. With Jim, it could be snowing and he’d still claim it was shorts and t-shirt weather, the crazy bastard. Leonard was of the staunch belief that anything below sixty-five was too damn cold. 

How he had then been roped into an away mission on a damn popsicle planet was beyond him. 

Damn Spock and his reasonable and logical request of having a doctor on hand for a potentially dangerous mission, and damn Jim for smiling, slapping Leonard on the back, and volunteering him for the task. It had gone well enough, up until it didn't, which was not surprising in the least considering the usual progression of their away missions gone wrong. As soon as Spock had mentioned a snowstorm on the horizon, Leonard should have immediately ordered a beam out. To hell with packing up supplies, he didn't want to be stuck in a damn blizzard. 

And yet, here he was, stuck in a damn blizzard with Spock as they both hunkered down in a small cave Spock had managed to get them to. 

Far too late had the beam up order been called, and with the stupid electromagnetic interference that every damn planet seemed to have these days, it meant they had to be retrieved one at a time. Of course, stubborn Vulcan that he was (and also being the most senior officer, which was an actual argument that could be made, and thus Leonard vehemently ignored it) Spock was last to beam up, and, Leonard supposed, in a rare flash of stupidity, he was alongside him. 

The storm had picked up with surprising speed and the garbled communicators should have been the first clue that no one was going to be leaving anytime soon. It had taken Spock mere moments, his logical mind clearly already having calculated the possibilities and came to the conclusion that the interference would be too great, and so while Leonard stood there reeling and stupidly listening to the static pouring out of his communicator, Spock had grasped his upper arm, bundling them both to a nearby cave to hopefully outlast the storm. 

“Damnit, Spock!” Leonard growled, ignoring the urge to scrub his face in favour of wrapping his arms tightly around himself, the cold already an oppressive weight on him. 

Spock merely raised a single, unamused eyebrow.

“As I have no control over this planet’s weather patterns, I do not see how the current predicament is my fault, Doctor.” Leonard swallowed down an acerbic response, there was no point when Spock would just point out some valid argument and derail Leonard's annoyance with logic. 

Besides, he needed to conserve energy.

“Whatever,” he instead settled on, and while it was far from what he wanted to say, it was at least a small comfort to pour as much acid into the one word as he could. Another eyebrow joined the one previously raised, but Spock didn't comment. Leonard just sighed and moved further towards the back of the cave, as far away from the crack in the rocks they had come through as he could. After a few moments, Spock followed him, eyes focused on the tricorder in his grasp. Leonard waved a hand at it. “That thing tellin’ you anything helpful?”

“Indeed, Doctor.” Leonard glared at him. After far too many seconds of silence in which Leonard's frustration was only mounting, Spock dutifully ignoring him, he continued, “Projected estimates indicate that the current storm should subdue to a point where transporting will be possible to be in approximately one point four-six days.” 

Leonard's eyebrows shot up.

“We’re going to be stuck down here for a day and a half?!” 

Spock tucked the tricorder away.

“Approximately, yes.” 

The aggravated sigh that Leonard let out was nothing short of apocalyptic.

“And you’re so calm about this, _why?_ We’re stuck in a damn cave, in case you hadn't noticed!”

“Considering most planets' typical weather patterns, it is a relatively short amount of time. Also, given our current supplies, there is a ninety-seven point eight-five percent chance both of us will survive the encounter, so therefore there is no cause for alarm.” Spock’s eyebrow quirked for a moment before settling again. “And no, our current shelter has not escaped my notice.” 

Leonard threw his hands up in despair, honest to god growling in frustration, spinning on his heel and moving as far away from the Vulcan as the small cave would allow. The cave was silent for a few moments, save for the howling wind just outside their little hide, until Leonard heard shuffling sounds from where he’d turned his back on Spock. Curiosity getting the better of him, he turned as much as he needed to look behind him, eyebrows shooting up as he spied Spock digging out a small hollow in the snow before settling there. 

Spock regarded him for several moments, and Leonard held his glare, if only out of spite and to make sure that the arrogant Vulcan didn't think he was getting cute at being caught staring. “I would recommend that you sit down, Doctor, it is imperative that you conserve your energy,” Spock’s voice was oddly light, but the gaze he pinned on Leonard was far from it. His eyes had an intensity to them that made Leonard shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature. 

Leonard shifted for a moment in unease, before he frowned, which quickly dissolved into a full on scowl.

“I know that, you hobgoblin! You’d do well to remember who the doctor is here.” Kicking some of the snow at his feet into a slightly more approachable manner, he made to sit down, but only got about halfway through the motion before Spock piped up again.

“Surely, it would be more logical to sit close enough together so as to conserve body heat?” Spock sounded so calm and blase considering the massive lump that formed in Leonard's throat, which he desperately tried to swallow around enough to answer without sounding like a squeaky toy.

“I was trying to be courteous for once, Vulcans and their personal space and all.” He resolutely didn't look at Spock as he spoke, cheeks starting to burn a fierce red that had nothing to do with the cold, and motioned feebly with his hand towards the Vulcan.

“You have never been courteous before, it is curious you would start now.” 

This time Leonard did look at Spock, only so he was sure that the Vulcan felt the full heat of his glare. 

Spock only raised his eyebrows in response, and Leonard knew he was well and truly stuck. 

There would be no _logical_ reason not to sit next to each other (in fact, as pointed out, it was far more logical _to_ sit next to each other), and Leonard doubted very much that Spock cared for the personal reason. Huffing out an aggravated sigh, Leonard trudged his way over to Spock and plopped himself down next to him. 

Before he even had a chance to properly settle, Spock sidled up next to him, almost pressed flush along Leonard's entire side. Leonard froze, trying to remain calm as the Vulcan snaked his arm around Leonard's back to bring him in closer. _What in the blazes…?_

As far as Leonard knew, touching, of any kind, was almost non-existent in normal day-to-day Vulcan culture, touch telepaths that they were. Thus, Leonard was suitably confused as to why this particular Vulcan was doing his best impression of an octopus. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to promptly ignore how quiet and downright meek his voice had suddenly become.

“It is easier to conserve body heat if we are as close as possible.” 

Ah, of course, that explained it. 

Of course, it didn't explain why Spock felt the need to press his cheek into Leonard's shoulder, but his gnarled, old heart told him to just let it go and not look this gift Vulcan in the mouth. 

He let out a sigh, and dammit if he maybe snuggled a bit closer back, he’d just blame it on the cold, there was only so much Vulcan hugging a man could take, alright? He was like a damned hot water bottle compared to the frigid air. 

“Imma get some rest, alright? Wake me if anything exciting happens,” he mumbled to Spock, fearing that anything louder might break this sudden and unexpected (but very much appreciated) onset of physical touch. Spock perked up a little bit, enough to let the rush of cold air fill in the space where Spock’s head had been resting, and he tried not to curse at himself for his foolishness.

“Doctor, are you sure it is wise to be resting? We should try to remain as alert as possible in a hostile environment,” Spock pointed out, and if Leonard had been slightly more alert he would have noticed the slight edge of concern present, but as it was, all Leonard could care about in that moment was a quick nap, accusations of being an old man aside. All the worry about the next away mission gone wrong had led to far too many sleepless nights, and now that he was in the middle of one, all he wanted to do was conk it for a few hours.

“Why, of course.” He settled against the snow drift behind them so that he would hopefully not have a stiff neck whenever he awoke. “If you wanted the first watch that badly, Spock, you could have just said so.” 

A small displeased noise left Spock, and Leonard had but a moment to revel in the glory of the moment before he felt the sweet pull of sleep tug him into unconsciousness.

~

It must have been a rare night in Georgia, trapped in the deepest throes of winter, for Leonard was cold. 

Dreams were always a funny thing, he figured, for he was fairly sure that Georgia had never once gotten as cold as the mind numbingly pervasive bite that currently cocooned him, but nonetheless, in some dark recess of his mind it had decided that this was a fun way to spend its free time. 

Everything was so damn _cold._

An effort to burrow deeper under his god-awful covers proved fruitless, the cold almost seeming to come from _within_ him. That couldn't be the case, no matter which way you decided to look at it, and yet this was what his dream had settled on. He shivered under the covers pitifully, and no matter how tight a ball he curled himself into, warmth, or any semblance of it, was painfully elusive. 

That was until he heard a soothing voice, soft and coaxing. It sounded a bit like Jim, but wrong in a fundamental way, which led him to believe it might have been Spock, but from the impression that managed to settle in his hazy mind, it was surely far too _illogical_ to be him. Still, Leonard allowed himself to be calmed and swaddled by the not-Jim-but-maybe-Spock voice that talked to him, too low to make out anything distinct, only allowing the general feeling of comfort to wrap around him. 

Almost immediately, the cold retreated, and he felt pleasantly enveloped in the fog that the disembodied voice provided, his dreams dipping into something more peaceful, and equally forgettable.

~

It was a little while later, Leonard had no idea just how long, as he finally came to again, something nattering in his ear. 

_Damnit, who the hell had messed with the thermostat?_

Leonard was going to brutally murder Jim if the man had decided to play another prank on him. He’d’ve thought the man would have learned not to piss off one's doctor, but Jim was frighteningly dim when it came to self-preservation.

“Doctor,” a hushed voice broke through his reverie, and he felt himself frown, still half stuck in the last dredges of sleep. 

What in the hell was _Spock_ doing in his quarters? 

A biting chill passed through him as he opened his eyes to the (very concerning) look of mild worry that adorned Spock’s face, one finger pressed to his lips in a way that urged Leonard's silence. 

Everything suddenly clicked. 

Leonard froze, partially because Spock was _very_ close to him, but mostly because when Spock told you to do something in that particular tone of voice, it meant that odds were not favourable for your continued survival if you didn't. Leonard had learnt that, even when spitting mad at him, it was usually actually quite wise to listen to what the Vulcan had to say. 

Spock leaned in even closer, if such a thing were even possible, and whispered softly in his ear, and Leonard tried oh so hard to suppress the shiver that ran through his body, inwardly fuming that his body had decided that now was the best time to react like that. 

“I believe there is a possibly dangerous animal outside that is interested in our cave. I thought it wise to wake you in case the creature turns out to be aggressive.” Leonard strained his ears to listen over the howling winds but heard nothing, and, as embarrassing as it was, he was grateful for the early warning system that Spock provided. Offering Spock a brief nod, he spoke as softly as he could, voice barely above an exhale, but he knew Spock would pick it up.

“Try and scare it off?” 

Despite Spock’s near constant ribbing, he was still the doctor in their homey little cave, and he knew that their odds of survival would plummet rapidly from the ninety odd or so Spock had predicted earlier if they were suddenly and unceremoniously ousted from their current shelter. 

Spock chose not to answer, instead opting to simply nod his head. Whether that was because he didn't want to draw their guest’s attention or because he had nothing further to say was anyone’s guess. 

Spock carefully reached around to the back of his belt, detaching the backup phaser he kept there and gently placing it in Leonard's hand. It felt wrong for the weapon that caused so much stress within Leonard to now be his last resort. 

If only he had his damn hypos on him, they could knock out the beast before it could even flinch; unfortunately, the small backup medkit Leonard always kept on him didn't hold enough of such luxuries. 

All of a sudden Spock grew deathly still and Leonard was afraid to ask why until he saw what had Spock so concerned. 

It was large. 

Leonard wasn't entirely sure how it was going to fit through the same gap they had come in, but he figured the creature was probably used to such habitation. Long, cruel, curved claws came into view first, followed by a blunted, sloped muzzle. Large, almost owlish eyes blinked as it took in the cave, sweeping it for any current occupants. 

Leonard could tell the moment its eyes must have landed on them, for two things happened at once. One, the snowy, heather grey fur covering the creature puffed out, making it look twice as intimidating as it bull-rushed forwards into the cave. And two, Spock, in a movement so quick it was practically a blur, leapt up to intersperse himself between the creature and Leonard. 

It lunged forward, swatting Spock aside like a ragdoll, and as the sheer panic started to set in, Starfleet training smacked him upside the head. Leonard raised his hand and fired off a few shots, the close proximity guaranteeing they’d all hit. 

The creature screeched in pain, and Leonard couldn't help the bolt of sympathy that ran through him (never mind the fact that it would have probably torn them limb from limb) as the creature stumbled back a few steps before disappearing in a blink back the way it had come. 

Leonard shuddered out a shaky breath, which immediately caught in his throat as the image of Spock being thrown bodily away from him flashed lightning fast through his mind. In a heartbeat, Leonard bolted up and over to a prone Spock, the snow turning worryingly green around him.

“Spock?” he asked, the only thing keeping his voice and hands steady being the medical training that had been drilled into him. 

A panicking doctor was a useless doctor. 

Deciding to hell with the tricorder, Leonard took Spock’s pulse the old fashioned way despite knowing full well that doing so would yield no usable information other than the fact that Spock wasn't outright dead. Later, he would argue that in the heat of the moment he had merely forgotten as immediately doing so on a human was standard practice, and that that was his sole reasoning behind the action. 

Such a statement would be a lie, but that was for him to know, and him only. 

Spock’s pulse was surprisingly strong, but whether that was by virtue of his ancestry or the severeness of his wounds, Leonard wouldn't be able to tell until he turned him over. As it turned out, he wouldn't need to, as Spock decided to do so for him. Which, while in of itself was a good sign, did nothing for Leonard's poor, Jim-life-expectancy-ailed heart. 

“Damnit, Spock! _Stop moving!”_

Almost as if to spite the doctor, though he would vehemently deny such a thing later, citing logic or some other bullshit, Spock continued moving until he was on his back, and Leonard let his aggravation slide just long enough to help Spock turn himself over. 

“While I appreciate your concern, and I understand that you are the doctor out of the two of us, I am nonetheless fine. My wounds should not be life threatening.” 

Leonard would seriously consider giving him a good slap were he not injured. 

As much as it annoyed him to admit, a cursory glance at the wounds showed them to be mostly superficial, but the doctor in him held onto a nagging feeling. That creature was strong, and while there might not be much surface damage on account of Spock missing most of its claws, all sorts of nasty surprises could be hidden just below. 

“Well, while I appreciate your _understanding,-”_ Sarcasm dripped off Leonard like acid, his worry and fretting channeling itself away from nervous hands and a racing mind and instead into sharp words. “-I’m still your damn doctor, so I’ll be the judge of just how ‘not life threatening’ your wounds are, thank you very much.” 

Verbally sparring with Spock took his mind off the mounting dread that was forming in the pit of his stomach, while also working twofold in that Spock was still conscious and alert enough to participate. He glanced down at the tricorder as it beeped at him, indicating that it’d gathered its readings. 

_Shit._

Well, at least that explained the nagging feeling that had suddenly blossomed into impending doom. Vulcan bones, though exceptionally strong, did eventually have a breaking point, and it seemed that a few of Spock’s ribs had decided to give up the ghost, happily impaling the Vulcan’s lung as a parting gift.

There was no way that Leonard would be able to do anything helpful while stuck on this damn snowball. The best he could hope for was that Spock didn't drown in his own blood, suffocate to death, or die from hypovolemic shock in the time it took for the storm to clear. 

Suffice to say things had gone from ‘okay but manageable’, to ‘I might have to be writing a letter to the next of kin’ in a shockingly short amount of time. 

He glanced back down at Spock, who was looking at him with a, dare he say, apprehensive look on his face, clearly having guessed Leonard's facial expression was nothing but bad news. 

“What is it, Doctor?” Spock asked straight on, not wasting any time as his eyes bored into Leonard's head. 

In a split second decision, deciding that maybe lying by omission was okay, considering how often the Vulcan did it, he replied, “Nothing, Spock, we need to get you comfortable first, then we can talk.” 

He could feel Spock’s hesitance roll off him in waves, and clearly his injuries were affecting him more than Spock realised, for Leonard could easily read what was going on between those pointed ears of his. He was trying to figure out on his own what had Leonard so worried, and what was perhaps more worrying was that Spock seemed incapable of coming to a conclusion, which, despite Leonard's constant reminders that Spock _wasn't_ a doctor, didn't take an M.D. to figure out. A punctured lung was a punctured lung. 

Leonard maneuvered them both back over to the hollow Spock had made earlier, most of Spock’s deceptively heavy weight being shouldered by Leonard, the Vulcan himself doing unnervingly little to help. He settled Spock first, making sure that he was in a position that would aggravate his broken insides the least, before he pulled out his communicator, opening it with a practiced flick of the wrist, having to do so one handed as Spock currently held a death grip on his other arm.

“McCoy to Enterprise?” he asked into the device, holding down the button to broadcast, and was rewarded with the disheartening sound of nothing but static in response.

“There is no point, Doctor, by my estimates the storm has reached its peak, any attempts to communicate would be fruitless,” Spock all but ground out, the Vulcan uncharacteristically hard of breath. Leonard didn't like that one bit, and while he didn't want to put him under more strain than was strictly necessary, he needed to keep Spock as alert as possible for as long as possible.

“Well, how long then until it isn't a stupid idea to give Enterprise a call every hour?” 

A long worrying pause filled the cave as Spock seemed to gather his answer, the normally almost instantaneous calculation taking several heart stopping seconds to compute.

“I… would estimate at least another day,” Spock eventually got out, a slight frown on his face as if he wasn't entirely sure of the answer he had reached. 

Leonard's eyebrows climbed high on his forehead. 

“Just a day, no something point whatever to a ridiculously small amount that it's no longer really a guess?” Leonard asked, clipping his communicator back to his belt and unpacking his kit, pulling out the necessary hypo all one handed, his other arm starting to go numb from restricted blood flow. 

“Yes,” Spock answered, nodding listlessly, and Leonard used the brief distraction to stab Spock with a hypo that would help with blood coagulation. 

Spock didn't even flinch. Didn't even _react_ until after Leonard had withdrawn his hypo, at which point Spock let out a small grunt of surprise.

“Dammit man, you're getting delirious.” Leonard leaned forward to peel back his eyelids, grimacing at the sluggish reaction it displayed. 

“How would I know? You will not tell me what is wrong with me.” Spock’s grip on his arm only tightened with the annoyance that built in his voice, and as much as Leonard was all for giving someone a hand to hold, he might actually be in danger of losing his arm if Spock held on any tighter. He lightly tapped Spock on the cheek to get his attention, not liking how quickly Spock had started getting tired.

“Look, I need that arm back, or at the very least, it needs blood flow, so ease off the tourniquet fingers there, would ya?” Leonard tried reasoning with Spock, voice uncharacteristically soft. Spock was delirious, and raising his voice would likely only make things worse, Leonard approached this like one would a wounded animal.

“I have acquired this one, Doctor. You will have to procure another for yourself.” 

Leonard's eyebrows continued their ascent into his hairline. 

He glanced at Spock’s hand on his arm. He knew it was considered taboo to touch one another’s hands in Vulcan culture, but his fingers were going purple goddammit, he needed to do something soon. 

Placing a feather light touch on the Vulcan’s hand Leonard tried to gently pry it off, hoping that in Spock’s state he’d be able to at least get most of the way before he noticed. 

No such luck. 

Spock’s eyes snapped open to stare at him, and he tried his darnedest to look as innocent as possible. He just _really_ needed to be able to feel his other hand. 

In a move that had Leonard blinking in shock, Spock released his arm, instead tangling his fingers with Leonard's before he could even react. 

Leonard futilely reminded himself that Spock was going delirious from shock, and just because he was basically _kissing_ him now (Vulcan or not, kissing was kissing, in fact, one could argue that it was actually more intimate than Human kissing), didn't mean that such an activity would be appreciated when both were clear-headed and not possibly in hypovolemic shock. 

In fact, Leonard reasoned, Spock might be out of it enough to the point where he wouldn't even remember any of this anyway. 

That thought bolstered the small amount of hope Leonard had left. It would be far less awkward that way afterwards, considering he was pretty sure that Spock had his sights set on Jim. 

Clearly, Spock’s stance on his ownership of Leonard's hand was not likely to change anytime soon, so Leonard instead settled next Spock, not once trying to upset the connection lest Spock decided that he needed a few broken fingers to go along with the bruise on his upper arm. Well, Leonard mused, at least he could feel his fingers again, clearly _something_ was on the up and up. 

Leonard just hoped that the rest of the situation would hurry up and follow suit. 

Leonard let a long time pass before he said anything, his heart finally bending enough to break under the pitiful expression Spock wore on his face as he struggled to keep himself awake, his grip the only thing that seemed to still be going strong. 

“Just sleep, Spock,” Leonard murmured, gaze locked on the far wall. Out of the corner of his eye, Spock’s head turned to him inquisitively, his grasp tightening minutely. 

“I do not require sleep at the moment.” Well, at least Spock was no longer slurring his words. 

Leonard looked him over critically. The pallor of his face was still a concern, but Spock’s breathing had evened out a bit, and his eyes seemed far more alert than before. Though, clearly he was still _very_ delirious, as Spock still held onto his hand with a determination that was unmatched. 

_Stubborn Vulcans…_

“Yeah, well, as your doctor, I’m telling you very politely that you _do_ require it. If it pleases you, I can make it an order. Go to sleep, you stubborn, green-blooded, hobgoblin.”

“I do believe it is somewhat unethical to insult your patients, Doctor.”

“Oh, don't you _‘Doctor’_ me, Spock. I’ll insult whomever I want, whenever I want, however I want to.” He jabbed through the air at Spock with his free hand. “And that includes you, mister. So get sleeping!” 

Spock fixed him with what passed as a withering look for a Vulcan, but Leonard had the sudden creeping sensation that Spock was… afraid? No, that couldn't be right, he must merely be concerned. Yet Leonard couldn't shake off the indescribable feeling of dread he was somehow picking up. 

“Look, how about we meet halfway? What about that hoodoo daze you guys can put yourselves into? The healing one.” Spock seemed to consider him for a moment, his head tilted as he thought over Leonard's proposal. After a moment he must have come to his decision, for he shook his head, and Leonard tried to rein in the temper that immediately flared. 

He was _trying_ to be reasonable, damnit. 

“I need to remain awake, Doctor. As the commanding officer of our excursion, your safety is my highest priority. Since there is no one else present who could take over my place in the chain of command, the duty must remain with me.” 

Leonard tried to contain his ire. He really did. 

However, some of it escaped despite his best efforts.

“Damnit, Spock! You’re injured, therefore as the commanding _medical_ officer, I relieve you of duty. _Therefore,_ my safety is no longer your concern.” At this point Leonard would have normally been angrily pacing, but the almost pleading grip on his hand was too much to wrench away from.

“According to Starfleet Order 104, section F, paragraph 3: if the highest ranked officer is relieved of command due to injury, physical, mental, or otherwise, the next uninjured officer in line shall take over all of his or her duties and assume their responsibilities. In the case that no unaffected officer is present, the officer most capable to resume their duties will be reinstated in his or her position and remain in command. There are no other officers of the line present, Doctor. Therefore, no matter what state I find myself in, the duty of keeping you safe falls to me, a major part of which is to stay alert in the case of emergencies.” 

Leonard hated it with a passion whenever Spock cited regulation at him. It was like arguing with a _particularly_ boring rock. 

“Look, you can quote Starfleet regs at me all day, I don't care. Bottom line is, either you fall asleep of your own choice, or I drug you up to the gills in pain meds ‘til you can do nothing but pass out. Your choice.” 

Spock stared at him for a long while, seemingly trying to decide whether or not the doctor’s threats were genuine. 

After a moment or two, Spock frowned, ever so slightly, and Leonard knew if he didn't change up his tactics fast, he was going to get locked in a stubborn Vulcan logic match for the next half hour. Despite the irritation coursing through him, he let his expression soften slightly, trying to project a calm that he most certainly did not feel. 

“Spock, please, as much as you want to deny it, you’re in pain, either I give you something for it, or you go into your trance thing-y. Either way, I'm not going to let you continue to be in pain.” 

He could see Spock hesitate. 

_In for a penny, in for the whole damn pound._

Leonard gave a slight reassuring squeeze to Spock’s hand, who jolted minutely in response (for a Vulcan, he may as well have jumped a foot in the air), as if he had forgotten he had left it in Leonard's grasp. For a brief, worrying second, Leonard feared he had overstepped his bounds, and that he was about to imminently lose the cool (steadying) hand in his. However, that moment didn't come, as Spock merely nodded once, and then he took a deep breath that no doubt pulled painfully on his insides, face going slightly slack. 

Leonard stared at him for a few moments as Spock seemed to be concentrating deeply, and he realised with a jolt that the stubborn Vulcan had actually acquiesced to his suggestions. He could have sworn a soft, “I would not grow accustomed to it, Doctor,” echoed through the cave for a brief moment before the wind swallowed it up. 

Leonard had left Spock, who seemed to be deep enough in his trance that even if Leonard spoke softly he wouldn’t stir, to do his thing. 

Spock’s hand remained in his. He regarded it thoughtfully for a second, communicator held loosely in his other hand, eagerly awaiting anything more than static. 

For the first time since they had come down to this wretched planet, Leonard finally had a moment to think. His first immediate thought was how cold it was, so he snuggled in closer to Spock, hoping that as distracted as he was that he wouldn't notice. 

As much as Spock liked to claim that Leonard was oblivious, Leonard was far from it, even if in most cases, it was scientific obliviousness to which Spock referred (and he wasn't oblivious in that respect either, for the record). To be a doctor, one had to be quite perceptive, especially for one serving on the _Enterprise._

He swore there was a running bet to see how long someone could hide an injury or condition from him, just to see how riled up they could get him. But, as much as it tended towards physical perception, it more often than not led to emotional perception as well, which unfortunately led to introspective perception, something Leonard staunchly tried to do as little as possible. 

Even when he had tried to bury himself in work afterwards, the current bet that the others had informed him about hurt. 

It hurt a lot. 

Partly because, despite being the ship’s self-proclaimed grouch, he loved a good bet. Made it so much easier to swindle alcohol out of Scotty. 

However, mainly, it was because the rest of the ship could clearly see what Leonard feared to be the case. Spock and Jim were dizzying in their grandeur, not that he would want to stroke Jim’s ego anymore than he had to, but it was true, and Leonard paled in comparison to the two of them. 

He had no place getting caught up in their orbits. They were like a binary star system, two halves of a whole, and he was merely some lowly planetoid caught in between. The rest of the ship saw that, identified him as the third wheel that he was, and while he already knew it to be true, it hurt to know that the rest of the ship agreed with him, however unknowingly. 

It hurt that Uhura already knew as well. 

He hadn't had time to talk to her about it before this damn away mission, but he supposed it didn't really matter. What was there to talk about? 

Leonard had broken down in a rare moment of weakness and confessed everything to her, following her amicable break up from Spock, he figured she would be the most knowledgeable on the subject of the Vulcan, and she’d fended off enough of Jim’s advances to know a thing or two about him as well. He’d told her everything, then promptly sworn her into secrecy, threatening permanent medical relief if she so much as thought about breathing a word of it. 

She’d just looked at him with this odd, pitying expression and promised not to say anything. 

So, suffice it to say, it hurt. It wasn't really a betrayal, she was under no obligation to tell him about rumours aboard the ship, but some part of him was still hurt regardless. 

He sighed, long and deep, but made sure it was quiet enough to not disturb Spock, and glanced down at their entwined hands. It felt good to indulge himself in this small pleasure, however fleeting. 

If he really thought about it, Spock was probably just trying to be nice in that painfully awkward way of his. Spock knew about how to comfort a human, at least from a scientific standpoint, and it would be logical of the Vulcan to ensure that his useless human companion didn't panic and make the situation worse. 

Just as that particularly bitter thought entered his mind, he was dimly aware that something was faintly beeping, and promptly thanked his lucky stars that Spock was too immersed to realise his severe lapse of judgement. 

Keep watch, ha, yeah, not likely with this self-absorbed human. Who’s got two thumbs and wasn’t paying attention? 

He glanced to his hand, both overjoyed and utterly confused as to why it was doing anything. Spock had said it would be at least the better part of a day before he should even _begin_ to start hailing them. As it turned out, Spock had forgotten one crucial element to his calculations. The tenacity with which Jim employed in retrieving errant crew members. 

With a jerk of his wrist, he flipped the communicator open, if only to silence the inane trilling.

“McCoy here,” he answered, trying to keep the hope out of his voice in case this was some horrible cosmic prank.

“Bones!” Jim’s overly enjoyed and relieved voice echoed tinnily from the speaker, and Leonard felt himself crack into a begrudging smile. 

“Yeah, yeah, good to see you, too.” He rolled his eyes, not that anyone would see it. “Does that mean y’all are finally ready to spring us from this frosty hellhole? If so, you’re ahead of schedule, I’ve only just ordered room service.” 

Jim’s chuckle blossomed out from the speaker, and Leonard couldn't help the genuine smile that bloomed in its place. That man was far too stressed for his own good, and any amount of laughter that Leonard could wheedle out of him was to be declared a win.

“Scotty’s confident that the modifications he made should get through the storm, but to be sure he wants to do a few tests on some rocks first.” The communicator gargled heart-stoppingly for a few seconds before it settled back down. “-sed the same modifications to get the comms working, can you put on Spock? We’re having quite a lot of interference on our end and we could use his help.” Leonard glanced over to Spock, who had remained in the exact same position for the entirety of the conversation. 

He noted absently that the Vulcan’s expression seemed slightly pinched.

“Yeah, about that--” 

He could almost imagine Jim leaning forward in his seat, as if that would help him better hear his next words, not that it would have made a difference as Jim interrupted him with a brusque, “What’s wrong?” Leonard bit back a snappy reply along the lines of, ‘Well, if you’d stop interrupting I could tell you’, as he felt that it wouldn't be appreciated at the moment.

“Spock got into a bit of an… _altercation_ with one of the local critters on this giant popsicle of a planet. I’ve got him stable for now, but I’d appreciate any beam up you could send our way.” After he had finished speaking, he could vaguely hear Scotty in the background, but it was far too quiet and garbled to make out, and so he waited patiently for the relay that Jim would give him.

“Thank you, Scotty. Bones, he says the tests went well, and that he can beam you two up now. However, it’s still his recommendation to get you back one at a time to avoid… complications.” Leonard's mind conjured forth all sorts of ‘complications’ that had been recorded in the transporter's colourful history. He had no desire to turn inside out, thank you very much. “He also says that you guys will need to get out into the open; he can’t beam you from your current location.” 

Leonard eyed Spock, who was still largely unresponsive, hopefully as a result of the trance and nothing else. Unfortunately, he didn't have much expertise on the practice, he’d have to read up on it, or ask M’Benga. 

“Alright, I’ll comm you when we’re in position. McCoy out.”

He flicked the communicator shut, and turned back to Spock, trying to think about the best way to wake him. Eventually, after a considerable amount of careful and lengthy deliberation, he decided on a good old fashioned poke to the arm. 

A mistake, he would soon realize. 

The Vulcan’s eyes snapped open, and his grip became crushingly tight on his hand. Leonard could have sworn that more than one of his fingers made an ominous creaking sound. 

“Ow! Damnit, Spock, I need those!” he yelped, instinctively trying to snatch his hand back. Spock’s grip held firm, but loosened considerably to a far more relaxed hold after Leonard's initial reaction had passed, to the point where his hold was no more than a ghost on his hand. 

“I apologise, Doctor. Though I would be remiss to point out the fact that poking your fellow officer awake is hardly logical.” Leonard huffed and rolled his eyes, taking the momentary distraction to extract his hand from Spock’s feather light grip. The Vulcan frowned briefly, opening his mouth to say something before Leonard cut in, jumping to his feet as he did so.

“Jim called, he said that Scotty did some scientific and no doubt unsanctioned tinkering which got the transporter to work again. However, he also said that it won't work while we’re inside. Which means we gotta move.” 

Spock’s mouth was still open, but after a moment he closed it, seeming to decide he would hold onto whatever he wanted to say, instead offering a nod. Leonard breathed a small sigh of relief, which quickly turned into a growl of aggravation as Spock started trying to lever himself into a standing position on his own. 

Lurching forward, Leonard wrapped an arm around Spock to help him up, mindful of his ribs. It took some doing, but before long, they were both (mostly) standing.

“Alright, let's take this slow, okay?” Leonard said before they had even started walking, causing Spock to turn towards him sharply, or as sharply as he could given his current condition.

“Need I remind you that time is of the essence, Doctor? We do not know how long Mr. Scott’s alterations will continue to function for, nor if it is dependent on the current weather. Therefore, it is wise to assume that we should proceed with haste.” As if to prove his point, Spock started walking, leaving Leonard reeling for a moment before he caught up and forced Spock to slow down.

“It doesn't matter how the weather is if a blood clot dislodges from your lungs and gives that liver of yours a heart attack! As much as it pains me to say, I’d rather be stuck down here until the storm passes than have you die on me.” He glared at the entrance to their cave stubbornly, unwillingly to look Spock in the eyes as he spoke, taking purposefully slow and measured steps towards the entrance.

“I did not know you cared, Doctor,” Spock shot back dryly, a lazy quirk to his eyebrow as he let himself be guided in a rare show of passivity.

“Yeah, well, you're heavy, and Jim would get pissy with me if I left you in the snow.” Spock raised both eyebrows but made no further comments, and in the ensuing silence that followed they made their way to the crack in the wall, the wind howling something fierce, whipping and raking at Leonard's exposed skin even from the still semi-protected cover. “Here goes nothing.”

If Leonard thought it was cold in the cave, it was downright frigid once they stepped out of it. 

The howling wind that Leonard had been forced to listen to for the past forever was now slamming into him at full force, and he nearly staggered under the weight of it. His grip tightened around Spock’s middle, his other arm raised in a vain attempt to protect his eyes from tiny whipping needles of ice. Not that it made much of a difference as visibility was so bad to the point where if he held out his arm, he was in danger of losing sight of his fingers. 

He tried to shout over the wind about how far they would need to walk, but his voice was snatched from him before it even left his mouth, and it left him in the unnerving position of wondering if he had actually tried to talk, or if he had just thought the sentence in his head. Shaking his head, he pressed on, a firm arm around Spock at all times, horrifying what-if scenarios running through his head about losing Spock in the storm, with the transporters unable to beam them out. 

After they had been staggering for a good few minutes, far enough that Leonard could no longer even make out the impression of the cliff face they had hunkered in, -though whether that had more to do with the distance they had walked or the current visibility, Leonard didn't know (but was leaning towards the latter),- he dropped his arm and grabbed the communicator. With one arm wrapped around Spock, and the other quickly going numb from the cold, Leonard did the only dignified thing he could do and opened the communicator with his teeth, the wind far too fierce for any fancy one-handed maneuvers. 

“McCoy to Enterprise!” For all he knew, the only thing coming out of the communicator was static, but, hoping and praying that the temporary fix would hold, he continued, “We’re at the beam out point, Spock goes first.” Vulcan pride aside, if one of them was going to be left behind on this god forsaken planet, it was going to be him. 

There might have been a response, in fact there must have been, for his arm suddenly passed through Spock and hung awkwardly by his side. He whirled around just in time to see the light swirl around a nearly transparent Spock before he disappeared entirely in a flash, leaving Leonard totally and utterly alone on the planet. 

He knew it was idiotic, but he could have sworn the air dropped by another few degrees. 

Shaking his head to dislodge such thoughts, he wrapped both arms around himself as he waited for _Enterprise_ to get a lock on him. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

His mind helpfully supplied him with facts that Scotty had imparted upon him once upon a time, insisting that all senior officers, regardless of their speciality, should at least know the basics about the ship, transporter included. It was due to that forced seminar that he knew that he should have been beamed up by now. A million what-ifs ran rampant through his head, but he dismissed them all with a brusque shake of his head. 

Impatiently (and with no small amount of fear worming its way into his gut) he looked around the damn snowy hellhole, and was rewarded with a very real, very strong punch of panic as he realised he didn't know which way back it was to their cave. Logically, it should be behind him, but had he turned half a step or a full one when Spock disappeared? Terror formed full and roiling in his stomach, and he took half a step in the direction of what he _hoped_ was the right way, when the familiar and unpleasant weightlessness of the transporter wrapped around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like my last McSpirk fic was sorely lacking on the Spones side of the equation, so this chapter is an attempt to rectify that heinous oversight.  
> Also, if Spock’s behaviour seems odd, rest assured, there is a reason for it (and will be explained later on). So, if his apparent OOC-ness is annoying in any way, I’d just like you to keep this in mind before you close the fic thinking ‘this author has no idea how to write Spock’ (I don't, but there is a reason for this particular brand of OOC-ness).


	3. Chapter 3

Something was up. 

Leonard stared at the readings he had gathered, both on the planet and just now in Sickbay. None of it made sense. Yes, Spock had in fact broken three of his ribs courtesy of their snowy friend, and yes, it had punctured his lung, yet only just. It was more of a scrape than anything else. 

It was for this reason that he was thoroughly confused as he sat in his office. 

Now, when he’d been down on the planet, periodically scanning Spock, he’d dismissed the readings initially. Tricorders were notorious for acting up if they were placed under any amount of duress (which included, but was not limited to, breathing on them too hard, looking at them funny, or even just thinking about one of them not working), of which extreme cold surely counted. 

So, when it had spat back that Spock should have for all intents and purposes been _fine,_ Leonard ignored what it was saying in favour of using his own judgement of Spock acting weird as his diagnosis. And yet, back in Sickbay was he, and the results had not changed. 

This led him to - what he thought was the - obvious conclusion; Spock’s weird hippie trance thing had healed him far more than Leonard thought medically possible, and yet, one quick discussion with M’Benga later revealed that initial assumption to be as far off course as possible. Vulcan healing trances, for all their mysticism, could not heal a punctured lung in under a day. 

Which then meant that the tricorder on the planet _had_ been telling the truth, and was in fact functioning correctly. Which landed Leonard at his final conclusion. 

Spock had been acting weird _on purpose._

It was that final conclusion that had Leonard staring absentmindedly at his PADD. Spock had been acting weird, and all that behaviour, which Leonard had attributed to some combination of hypothermia and blood loss, was in fact a conscious decision on the Vulcan’s part. That fact, while taking some doing, had eventually been accepted, and what remained was something Leonard found took far more contemplation than he thought possible. 

Why? 

If it was anything else, the answer would have been simple. Whatever it was, was what Spock had deemed the most ‘logical’ course of action, however emotional it may have been if you actually looked at his actions for more than half a second (particularly when it came to Captain Dumbass). 

Thus, this led Leonard to the most obvious reason behind Spock’s behaviour. 

Logically, there had to be something else wrong with Spock, mentally, physically, or otherwise. 

That is what had Leonard storming through the hallways, other crew members taking one look and jumping out of the way of his apocalyptic fury. He was on a collision course for Spock’s quarters, after he’d been released there under the strict pretense of light duties only (after having opened Spock up, expecting to have to perform emergency surgery, only to find practically nothing wrong as he stood there like a fool). (He’d fixed Spock’s ribs that definitely didn't need fixing just so that he wouldn't have to admit this particular blunder). 

Punching in his medical command override code, which in hindsight probably wasn't the smartest thing to do when entering any crewmates’ private quarters, he stalked into the room before the door even had the chance to open properly. 

“How long have you been lying to me?!” he seethed, stabbing the half forgotten PADD in his hand violently at the very mildly surprised Vulcan. Spock exchanged raised eyebrows with Jim, who looked stunned more than anything, hand still half reached out to grab a chess piece. Jim and Spock seemed to have a silent conversation for a second, which only served to make Leonard's blood boil more, before Jim rose out of his seat, refocusing on Leonard. 

“Bones, calm down. What are you talking--” Leonard snapped to face him, anger diverting for but a brief moment.

“Can it!” he interrupted before he resumed his glare on Spock, taking a single threatening step forward. “How long?” he spat, seeing red. 

Spock rose as well, albeit far more sedatedly than Jim had, holding his hands out in what Leonard could only assume was supposed to be a placating manner. 

“Doctor, I am unsure as to what you are referring to.” Leonard, honest to god, _growled._

“Don't you _dare_ play coy with me! I have had it with you and your Vulcan secrecy and whatever illogical formula you use to determine whether or not you should deign to tell your primary physician of life threatening problems! So either you tell me now or I get Security to haul your ass to Sickbay!” At some point during his rant Leonard had moved further into the room, punctuating each sentence with another jab of his PADD at Spock. 

Spock didn't answer, even after it was obvious that Leonard was not pausing for breath but instead waiting for a response. What he did next had Leonard go from angry to absolutely livid. 

Spock briefly turned to look at Jim, who shook his head minutely, and the exchange was not lost on Leonard, who took a step back in shocked anger. 

“I swear the next words out of your mouth better be a damned good explanation for why your _Captain_ learns about your medical issues before your _doctor_ does,” Leonard all but hissed, his glare more than enough to kill most mortal men. 

“Because it is not a medical issue, Doctor.” 

Leonard blinked once. 

His breath shuddered in his chest as he froze. 

“Rest assured that I have learned that it is better to tell you of my medical problems when they occur regardless of your current work schedule, rather than waiting for a time when you are free. I have found such forthrightness to be beneficial, for you are quantifiably less angry if you do not find out by yourself.” 

Leonard all of a sudden felt very stupid. He took a step back. Then another, his hip knocking lightly against Spock’s desk.

“Oh,” he mumbled dimly, blinking a few times as embarrassment began colouring his face profusely. “Right, uh, okay.” 

Now that he actually had a moment to think, the anger having drained away in an instant, he realised just how badly he had overreacted. He had no excuse for jealousy or self-righteous anger, Spock was under no obligation to tell his doctor about any personal issues that might be affecting him, so long as they weren't negatively affecting him in a professional capacity, and in fact, he had every right to share it with his Captain and nobody else. 

Leonard reached up to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck, his eyes refusing to meet either Spock or Jim’s. So used was he to Jim and Spock hiding every goddamned injury from him, that he hadn't once stopped to think that maybe something was affecting Spock, not in a medical sense, but in an emotional one, and that that was the cause for his inexplicable behaviour. 

God he felt like such an ass. 

“Well, uh, I guess I’ll be off then.” He raised his gaze just enough so as not to be rude, focusing on the far wall behind Spock and Jim. “Have fun with your… game,” he finished lamely, feebly gesturing to the half completed game of chess that he had interrupted. 

Before he could have any more uneducated and idiotic fits of rage, he spun around on his heel, swiftly exiting Spock’s quarters before he could make even more of an ass of himself than he already had. 

There was a message waiting for him by the time he got back to his office. He had half a mind to ignore it, that was, until he looked at the sender’s ID. Leonard tried to rein in the mounting feeling of shame building in his stomach as he read the message.

 _I would like to apologize for not notifying you sooner, if only to tell you that you needn't worry on my behalf._ Leonard sighed, shoulders slumped as he answered.

 _Don't worry about it, I should be the one saying sorry anyway. The reaction I had was unwarranted._ Spock’s reply was quick. 

_Even still. I caused you undue stress that could have been easily avoided, and for that I apologize._ Leonard frowned at Spock’s insistence, before he let out a small huff and replied. 

_How about we just forget this happened? We’ve both apologized, no harm done._ There was a very long pause before Spock replied, to the point that Leonard had already brought up some paperwork that he needed to get on with when the computer beeped at him to tell him that he had a new message. 

_As you wish._ Leonard froze, dumbfounded at Spock’s totally un-Spock-like message. He shook his head, maybe all this human contact was brushing off on Spock more than the Vulcan would like to admit. 

~

Leonard sat alone in the officers’ mess hall, uncaring of the ungodly time of night - or morning, depending on how you looked at it - that it was. For some reason, drinking alone in his quarters instead of sleeping had been just a shade too depressing for him, so he had relocated such imbibement to a public place, thinking, stupidly, that the late (or early) hour would lead to a quiet drink. 

He’d been right, that was until he heard the soft swish of the doors behind him opening. 

The lights were too dim to make out the features of the person in the reflection of the window, and for a single, solitary moment, Leonard hoped that whoever had decided to disturb him would grab whatever they needed and would then promptly leave. 

No such luck.

“Leonard?” He barely held back his groan, and twisted in his chair to face a very uncharacteristically hesitant Uhura, who looked like she half expected him to bite her at the slightest provocation. 

He grunted at her, taking another sip from his glass, and her face immediately fell into a far more familiar frown. 

Apparently having decided that she wasn't about to be assaulted, she walked up to the bar Leonard was at, taking the stool next to him after a moment's pause. “Can I have some?” She jerked her head at his glass. He only had the one, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let her drink from the bottle.

“Sure.” Her lips pressed together in dissatisfaction, before she pushed her pride to the side and took the proffered glass, taking a hearty gulp before handing it back. Leonard refilled it before having another sip, both of them falling into silence for a few moments. 

“Any particular reason for this late night drink?” she eventually asked, shattering the hopeful silence of a drink without any brain picking. This time, Leonard did groan.

“Does there have to be a reason?” he groused, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she looked away.

“I mean, no. I just thought there might be one.”

“Well, you thought wrong.” Uhura turned to him now, the frown marring her delicate face. 

“Did I?” The challenge was clear in her words, and he knew that she wasn't wrong. 

That didn't mean he was going to say anything, though, so he let his silence speak for itself. 

She sighed lightly, picked up his glass and had another sip, the silence stretching for a long moment before she broke it again. “I'm sorry, I should have told you.” That did get him to turn towards her, and the look of understanding in her eyes almost broke his resolve. 

_Almost._

“Nuthin’ to be sorry ‘bout.” It was a lie, and they both knew it.

 _“Leonard.”_ The admonishment rang clear, and he felt his shoulders tense despite himself.

 _“What?”_ he snapped, and immediately regretted it, unable to hold her gaze. She sighed again, this time harsher, and far more deeply.

“You could just tell them,” she whispered, leaning in as she did so, and despite her precautions, he still found himself nervously casting a glance around the still empty room.

“The fact that you had to apologize a moment ago shows just how much I can.”

“I know what the rest of the ship thinks, but you have to admit, you’re pretty good at hiding it. I doubt anyone other than Christine and maybe Geoffry have figured it out.” He snorted, both because he really could get nothing past Christine, and because Uhura thinks that _M’Benga_ might have figured it out. That man might as well have been Vulcan for all the emoting that he did. 

However, his faint amusement did nothing to stop the cruel twist of betrayal that resurfaced with a passion within him.

“It seems that the rest of the ship thinks that you think like them, too. You can say the word ‘no’ in more languages than I know exist.” This time she did look guilty, and averted her gaze for a moment before focusing back on him. 

He just stared intently at his glass, taking something that was far too big to justifiably be called a ‘sip’. 

“What would you have had me do? Just say no? Don't you think that would be mighty suspicious? I know you don't want anyone to know, and I figured refusing would be a surefire to get people asking questions.” 

She was right. He knew that. 

However, it did little to assuage the betrayal that snaked hot and fierce in his gut. “And besides, I feel like the more appropriate question here is, why did you insert yourself into the bet?”

“As you said, averting suspicion.” Uhura looked less than convinced. 

“No one was expecting you to throw your lot in. You could have walked away from that conversation by just placing a wager and leaving it be.” 

“Could I? Jim is my best friend, and it's no secret that Spock and I have some sort of relationship beyond all the arguing. Even with Jim alone, everyone would expect me to have a vested interest. It would have been weird for me to _just_ make a bet.” He felt a piercing look directed his way, but was unable to feel its full heat as he kept his gaze pinned on the glass in his hand. 

“You can be stubbornly idiotic sometimes,” she muttered, snatching the glass from him and downing what remained, ignoring the indignant noise he made. 

“Only ‘sometimes’?” he sassed, one eyebrow raised as he refilled his glass. 

“I was just humouring you, I meant to say all the time.” Leonard hummed in assent, eyebrows quirking upwards. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and just when he thought it was going to stick, Uhura piped up again. “Look, I should be heading to bed, I don't have shift next, but I know you do. Just like I know that there is no point in telling you to go to sleep, as, as a doctor, I’m sure you're more than aware of all the detrimental side effects that sleep deprivation has.” 

He fixed her with a half-hearted glare, which seemed especially weak in comparison to the no-nonsense one he got in response.

“Yeah, I do know. Now, shoo.” One flicking motion, and one answering eyeroll and sigh later, Uhura was gone, sashaying out of the mess hall with an energy level that baffled Leonard. 

Finally alone again, Leonard kept sipping away at his bottle of scotch until the first few members of the alpha crew seeking breakfast started filtering in, at which point he promptly made himself scarce, already resigning himself to another day of paperwork in Sickbay. 

~

Paperwork sucked. 

One of the few things that always remained constant in Leonard's life: sucking at relationships, and soul sucking paperwork. Once upon a time he had wondered if there was a correlation there but he honestly didn't care to look. 

It was some annoying combination of the two that had him cradling his head in his hands at that particular moment. There were always more appointments to schedule, more staff meetings to hold, more idiots that needed patching up; the monotonous slog of it was enough to drive Leonard mad. Of course, then coupled with the stress inducing away missions that hit like a shuttlepod and then resolved themselves (typically) as soon as they sprung up, and it was a wonder that Leonard hadn't needed to declare himself medically unfit for duty already. 

Not to even mention the constant drain that was pretending to be indifferent about his best friend and his best verbal sparring partner being obviously - and exclusively - in love with each other. Sometimes, he just needed the relief that came with holing himself up in his office for a shift and not having to pretend for anyone. He needed that now more than ever with the ship’s current bet looming over his head. 

Plus, what with Jim and Spock drifting closer and-

A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts, and for once he was grateful for the intrusion. He was doing himself no favours with that line of thinking. 

Christine stood in the doorway, a mildly concerned look on her face. 

_Oh, this ought to be good._

“Anything I can do for you, Nurse Chapel?” 

“Geoffry and I were going to grab something to eat, you should join us.” She paused for a second to press her lips together in a special brand of disapproving exasperation that she saved just for Leonard. “Or at the very least have a break.”

“I’m still going strong, but thanks for the invitation.” That got her to step inside his office fully and cross her arms.

“Oh, really? Because to me it looks like you're trying to hide because of that brainless bet that Science started, which you then made worse by sticking yourself in the middle of it.” Now it was his turn to face her properly, swiveling his chair to cross his own arms back at her. 

“Bets are good for crew morale, you know this, Nurse Chapel. It is a relatively safe and consistent stress reliever.”

“Well, while they might typically be good for crew morale, yes, this particular one isn’t good for _your_ morale.” He narrowed his eyes at her dangerously, though Christine was more than well aware of the fine line she was walking. 

“Needs of the many, needs of the few, and all that,” he muttered, waving his hand dismissively at her. Her eyes narrowed to threatening slits.

“Alright then, I’m sure the Captain would be more than happy to hear that his CMO has been stood down for reckless endangerment of a crew member. In fact, I’m sure he’d be so pleased to hear that, exuberant even.” 

He glared. 

She glared back.

“Fine!” he eventually cracked, “I’ll take a fifteen minute break, happy?”

“Ecstatic. I’ll be checking the logs, so don't try anything smart.” He muttered some choice words at her retreating back that she pretended to ignore, and turned back to his computer with a loud, put-upon sigh. Just in case Christine was still within earshot. 

Now the question was, what to do with his break?

For the first few minutes, he did nothing but massage his head, alleviating at least some of the tension that seemed to permanently reside there these days. When it seemed that massage was getting him nowhere, he found himself staring at his computer again, itching to do something, if only to rebel against what Christine had told him to. 

Plus, unoccupied, his mind went all sorts of places he really didn't need it going. 

Such as the aforementioned bet. 

He eyed his PADD and hummed. If he couldn't do actual work he might as well do _something_ productive with his time. Picking up his PADD and making a new, private document he set about brainstorming some ideas. A good half hour later he had a fairly solid plan, solid enough in fact that he felt confident in putting it in motion, though he made sure he had a few backups in case this one fell through. He was going to show Uhura up if it was the last thing he ever did. Smirking to himself, he went about typing up a formal invitation.

Private Communication

IGSC: [SD 2263.167]

Sender: [McCoy, Leonard H.]

Recipient(s): [Spock, S. T.] - [Kirk, James T.]

Subject: Food

Jim & Spock,

I just wanted to make it up to the two of you for barging in on you like that.

How does dinner sound? After Alpha shift tomorrow, say 1900 in the Captain’s ready room? I’ll make everything myself, use some of that produce we picked up on Venir IV, so neither of you two need to worry about anything other than bringing yourselves. 

McCoy.

He grinned at just how quickly the confirmations pinged back from both of them. Leonard momentarily forgot the pangs in his chest in favour of the prospect of the trap he had laid out before an unsuspecting Jim and Spock. 

Oh, this was going to be fun. 

Nevermind that the ‘desired’ end result was the two of them skipping off into the sunset without Leonard. 

That particular sudden regretful realisation could come later.

~

He had a rare spring in his step, there was no point in trying to deny it at this point. 

It was odd that he was so jovial, for he was essentially planning his own emotional demise, but he supposed that that was long term, and his mind was clearly heavily favouring the short term of ‘dinner with Jim and Spock’. 

After a lot of wheedling (and many promises of shift reassignments, or physicals in Scotty’s case), from Christine to act as a necessary distraction, to M’Benga being persuaded into taking over one of Leonard's shifts, and finally to Scotty for providing the appropriate alcohol, - his own supply was running low, and he figured since it was the engineer’s hare-brained scheme in the first place, he should be the one coughing up the supplementary booze - his plan was ready. 

Leonard cracked his fingers and set about preparing his hopefully show stopping dish, his mind wandering as he went about the task of making dinner on autopilot. Naturally (and wasn't that a dopey realisation), his thoughts wandered to his soon-to-be dinner mates. 

He noticed just as he set about cutting the fruit, that he was nervous. 

Which was ridiculous. 

For one, this wasn't a date, well, not for him at least, and secondly, since when had _he_ ever gotten sweaty palms over a date? If Leonard was one thing, it was cool and calm under pressure, something inside him switching off to be replaced with an all-consuming professionalism. Having to stop every few minutes to wipe his palms on his jeans was hardly professional. And yet, he was consumed, not with professionalism, but instead with an irrational desire to make sure this date went well. 

Which, in of itself was stupid - it wasn't even _his_ date, for crying out loud!

Of course, not that that stopped him from dressing in his best pair of jeans, which he knew from experience hugged him in all the right places, nor did it stop him from wearing one of his nicest shirts either. 

Just because it was all a ploy didn't mean Leonard couldn't at least dress the part. 

He hummed as he worked, mind casting itself back to a much simpler time, when he was young, had no real interactions with death, and thought that he’d eventually find happiness, like some fool that believed in happily ever afters. 

Such times were spent next to his mother’s side, helping her cook - even if that mostly lent itself to laying the table and reading off the recipe. Still, Ma had been one of the main reasons why he could cook now, as, in her eternal wisdom, ‘no one wants to be with a man that can't cook to save his life’. 

He had always thought this was odd, since his own father was historically barred from even entering the kitchen unless it was to grab a beer. Though he supposed she was willing to let that one slide. Jim was much like his father in that respect, neither could cook worth a damn, but he supposed that he, like his mother, could let that one slide, too. 

Idly, he wondered if Spock was any good at cooking, and decided that the hobgoblin probably had a private tutor for it or something. Or maybe Amanda had taught Spock in the same way Ma had for him. Perhaps he should ask him sometime. 

However, it was only a matter of time when thinking about those two (especially in conjunction) that his thoughts should sour, jealousy tingeing the edges of otherwise happy thoughts. 

He wasn't blind. 

He saw the way Jim practically lit up like a damn Christmas tree whenever Spock was in the room, or when Spock in return displayed any emotion other than annoyance, which was the only one Leonard seemed to be able to elicit with any regularity. 

Those two idiots were clearly - and madly - in love with one another, and frankly, Leonard knew that he just didn't fit into that equation. 

Sure, he fitted at the moment, but that was only because they hadn't realised yet what the other could truly give them. There was a place for Leonard now; Spock didn't drink and Jim wasn't too enamoured with bickering for the sake of bickering, but how long would this niche last? Before it got to the point where Jim didn't drink anymore, because he was content in life, so why would he need to? And then when Spock decided that the mental exercises he called their verbal sparring would be better suited to long winded discussions with Jim, where they could actually go the entire conversation without being at each other’s throats? 

The gap he filled only existed _because_ Jim and Spock didn't realise there was another option, and Leonard was going to be damned before he let them miss out on something as great as that simply because he was scared of being obsolete. 

He would still be needed as a doctor, he wasn't stupid, but as a _friend?_

He was expendable. 

He was a halfway point to something better; a crutch until you could walk again, useless once your leg had healed. But if that was to be his lot in life, so be it; if it meant Jim and Spock could truly be happy, Leonard was more than willing to step aside. 

No matter how much it would kill him on the inside to do so. 

In fact, he was almost certain it had already started happening. 

Ever since Jim had been captured by those rebels a week ago, they both seemed… closer. It was subtle, and he doubted if he were anyone else or looking even a fraction less closely he would have even noticed, but it was there. 

It was definitely there. 

The two had shifted, their dynamic almost imperceptibly different, but glaring in its consequences. Leonard knew where this was heading, it hadn't been all that different with Jocelyn, not really. 

Of course, with the inevitable wedge that was sure to drive between them, there was no scared six year old clinging to his trousers, but that didn't make it sting any less. (A brief, silly thought of Chekov clinging to him in such a way flashed across his mind, as he was probably the closest thing the _Enterprise_ had to offer.) 

Starfleet was supposed to be his second chance, his new beginning. It wasn't supposed to just be a goddamn encore. 

He sighed. Of course, he had to get those two morons together before any of that could happen, so, first things first. 

He focused his attention back to making dinner.

~

It was a bit embarrassing to be caught humming, and he promptly stopped mid note as soon as he realised the door had opened behind him to reveal two guests who were _early,_ damnit. He span around, surprise giving one of the two guests enough time to get in a word before he could even think to respond.

“What’s this? Bones in a happy mood? Are you feeling quite alright?” Jim teased, but his easy-going tone was belied by the slight nervous wringing of his hands in front of him. 

Leonard tucked that piece of information away for later inspection as his brain finally caught up with his intruders presence enough to scowl viciously. Spock looked strangely pleased at his reaction, as if he had predicted it (he probably had) and turned to Jim with an expression that could only read as smug.

“I informed you that such a comment would be unwise, Captain.” If it was even possible, Spock straightened more in satisfaction. 

‘Vulcans don't express emotions’ my ass. That thought was enough to snap him out of his surprised stupor. 

“Ha. Ha,” he groused, reaching around to turn down the stove so that nothing would boil over, he didn't want to be cleaning anything up later just because those two idiots distracted him. “Now, what in the hell are you two doing here? I told you 1900.” He turned to them properly, arms crossed. 

Jim had the audacity to look sheepish whereas Spock just tilted his head ever so slightly.

“The Captain insisted that we arrive earlier to help with preparations,” Spock informed him, much to Jim’s dismay, shock and betrayal on his face. 

“It's not much of an apology if you help me make it,” Leonard pointed out, eyes narrowed. Jim and Spock looked at each other for half a second, communicating in that unspoken way of theirs that never failed to make Leonard feel excluded. 

After a second, both turned back to him, and he made sure that his face kept neutral. 

“Well, we could offer moral support if you're _that_ opposed to our help.” Leonard narrowed his eyes further at Jim.

“What kinda ‘moral support’ we talking about?” A brief nod from Jim to Spock had the Vulcan revealing his hands that Leonard hadn't noticed that he had hidden behind his back, a bottle of scotch in them. 

“The liquid kind.” Jim grinned. Leonard sniffed, tilting his head as though in contemplation for a few moments. 

“I suppose I could accept a bit of moral support.” He turned back to the stove then, to hide the pleased smile that blossomed across his face. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of the bottle opening, the clink of two glasses as they were placed down, and the gentle murmur of liquid being poured. 

A moment later Jim appeared at his elbow, two drinks in hand. He offered one of which to Leonard, who took it and had a sip. It tasted good, it must have been one Jim had been saving. 

“What’s cooking?” Jim leaned in over the stove to get a better look. “Smells good.”

“A McCoy family special, modified to accommodate what we had in the cargo hold.” Jim raised his eyebrows at him after he realised that Leonard wasn't going to offer any more information.

“No more specifics than that? Well, I guess it’ll be both a McCoy special _and_ a McCoy surprise.” 

“Everyone loves a surprise. Now get! I’m trying to cook here.” Leonard made a shooing motion with his free hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Jim moved away. 

“Actually, Doctor, as you have informed me on multiple occasions, you do not like surprises. Thus, your statement cannot be correct, even if one were to limit their sample size only to those currently present.” Leonard rolled his eyes at the stove.

“I think Bones just rolled his eyes at you, Spock.” _Smartass._ Leonard grumbled a few unsavoury words under his breath.

“Is there something you wish to inform us of, Doctor?” Spock asked innocently, as if he hadn't heard every grumbled word with those pointed ears of his. There were a lot of answers to that particular question, but Leonard settled on the one that was least likely to make him look like a fool.

“That you're both a major pain in my ass and I don't know why I bother with you two.” He could almost feel the beaming grin Jim was projecting at the back of his head.

“Love you too, Bonesy.” He squashed down the odd thump-thump his heart made, and instead shook his head exasperatedly, steering the conversation into easier territory between the three of them as he finished off dinner. 

~

_“Bones!”_ Jim whined, sounding every bit the toddler that he actually was rather than the Starfleet Captain everyone kept insisting he supposedly was and pretended to be. “How much _longer?”_

“Given the Doctor’s original estimation of fifteen minutes, which was provided eleven minutes and thirty-seven seconds ago, the logical assumption would be at least another thee minutes and twenty-three seconds until which time the food should be ready.”

“What he said, except every time you whine I’ll be adding another five minutes.” Jim glared back and forth between the two of them, as if he couldn't quite make his mind up as to which one he should be angrier at. 

Eventually he huffed, crossed his arms, and sulked into his chair. Leonard just rolled his eyes, and got the distinct impression Spock would to, if it were not beneath his Vulcan superiority complex. 

Deciding that Jim wasn't going to be of much help, he turned to Spock, and instructed the Vulcan on laying the table. He would have preferred to do it himself, but he’d be damned if he went through all the effort to make this dinner just to burn it at the last second. With everything in place, Leonard turned off the stove and presented his dish with a flourish, trying to suppress his exasperated eye roll as Jim eyed it like a mad man. 

“May we know the contents of the dish you have prepared for us now?” Spock waited, poised and collected at one end of the table, sat opposite to Jim who was practically drooling, both for the food and for his curiosity. Leonard paused for another second, just enough to string Jim along a little further, before he smiled and sat down, perpendicular to both of them.

“Well,” Leonard started, and in that brief pause his hands decided that now was the time to get nervous again. 

He hid them under the table and hoped no one had noticed. 

“A lot of the ingredients I wanted to work with, we didn't have, but nonetheless I persevered and managed to find something analogous for each of them. So, hopefully this should taste close enough to wait I was aimin’ for.” 

Jim looked like he was about to explode. 

“It’s supposed to be pulled pork.” He held up a hand before Spock could interject. “Except, between the Venirians being vegetarian and our local hobgoblin, I substituted it with something that should be close enough to pass as jackfruit.” He coughed to clear his suddenly dry throat. “So, uh, dig in?” 

Jim’s beaming smile spoke more than any of his verbal praise could as he took his first bite, and Leonard might just need to get his eyes checked, because he was pretty sure he saw Spock smile at one point, too. 

It was just after he had mentally scheduled an eye appointment for himself that Leonard heard his comm chirp, and for a brief moment he felt irritation flare through him that some idiot would pick _tonight_ and _right goddamn now_ to comm him, before he remembered that this was how he had _planned_ it to go. 

Leonard would have blushed had he not had company. 

He hauled himself out of his chair, walked over to the comm, and pushed the button with more force than was strictly necessary, his mind happily reminding him of the many times this had happened to him for real. 

“McCoy here,” he groused, looking back at Jim and Spock as they slowed their pace, intrigued about his conversation. 

“You're needed in Sickbay,” Christine’s voice echoed through the speaker, and he sighed deeply and truly, not just for now but for all the times that he had only just walked out of the shower and received a similar summons.

“It’s M’Benga’s shift. I'm off duty.” He wasn’t worried about being too harsh on Christine; he had promised her a shift off if she helped him, after all, and he didn’t know whether to be concerned or amused at how quickly she had jumped at the offer. 

“I’m sorry, sir. Doctor M’Benga is busy with someone else and this can't wait.” He sighed through his nose, not massive, but far from light. 

He paused for a second, noting curiously out of the corner of his eye the way that Jim and Spock seemed to lean in slightly.

“Fine, I’ll be down in a minute.” He released the comm and turned back to his dutiful and unwitting audience, both of whom had leaned back in their chairs again, almost deflatedly. 

Which was ridiculous, so he ignored it.

“It would seem that your presence is required in Sickbay, Doctor,” Spock surmised, and if it were anyone else uttering those words Leonard would have said that they were disappointed. 

Which was, again, _ridiculous,_ so he ignored it. 

“I’ve no idea what’s got M’Benga so busy, but if it's anything short of someone actively dying, I’m going to have his head on a plate. That’ll be dessert.”

“It’s alright, Bones.” 

Jim’s smile was just a touch too tight. 

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been needed right after I’ve sat down to relax for five seconds.” Oddly, despite his words, his eyes were devoid of humour. If Leonard didn't know any better he would have said Jim was disappointed, too. “We can always reschedule, come back later.” 

Now they turned hopeful, and he noted that Spock tilted his head in that specific way Leonard had come to associate with the Vulcan hoping for a positive outcome even though the statistics were suggesting otherwise. 

Leonard decided that, apparently, today was going to be ridiculous, and so he gave up trying to note it only to ignore it.

“No, I am not letting this go to waste,” Leonard argued, voice sounding way more sure than he was. He had never before wanted to shirk his duties so much, in fact, there wasn't really anything holding him back considering these specific duties were fabricated. Except, well, everything _else_ that was holding him back. “You two, eat. I’ll come back and join you after I’ve dealt with whatever life threatening crisis that’s cropped up this time.” 

When he left the room he could have sworn that Jim and Spock’s eyes followed him out. 

Which was ridiculous, despite Leonard telling himself that he wasn't supposed to be noting that kind of stuff. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Hopefully, the next update should be a bit more speedy (but no promises).   
> Comments are always appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took far longer than I anticipated, but it's finally here!

The ship lurched uncontrollably for the umpteenth time, and even though he knew Sulu was doing his best, he still cursed the man under his breath. He held his death grip on the edge of a biobed until the shaking had died down to something manageable, and tried not to drown in the wave of dismay that hit him as somehow even more people flooded into Sickbay. 

Briefly, he entertained the idea of contacting the bridge just so he could grouch about starship gymnastics, but after a small deliberation - which consisted of Christine glaring at him like she could read his mind - he decided against it. After another particularly heated glare that read, very clearly, _stop trying to antagonize the bridge crew and get your ass into gear,_ **_Doctor,_ ** Leonard started for the nearest unattended patient; poor guy had a very obviously broken arm, and what looked like a concussion (or at least a head injury) to boot. 

However, he could get no more than a step in the ensign’s direction before the pervasive shuddering turned into an almighty jerk, accompanied by the lovely weightless feeling of the grav-plating failing momentarily.

Too soon, the grav-plating roared back into life, yanking him back down unceremoniously to the ground, but not before lovingly bestowing a medical cart in between himself and the floor. His head caught it with a rather worrying crack and he could do nothing but fall limply in a heap next to the cart. 

With a very hazy start, Leonard realised he must have passed out for a moment, because when he came to everyone was still scurrying around like mad, and the ship was still doing its best attempt at having a seizure. 

Woozily, he tried pulling himself off the floor to at least maintain the idea of dignity, but fell back down with a sharp gasp as his wrist throbbed something painful, politely informing him of its displeasure at being used. 

_Alright, guess the left is out of action for now._

Switching to his right, Leonard managed to lever himself into an upright position against the biobed behind him, something warm and wet and metallic running down his face and neck. 

Which, he realised with a start, was blood. 

_His_ blood. 

A lot of it, too. 

He stared idly at his shirt as his own blood poured out of his head, staining the blue a faintly worrying red. Some part of him knew that his behaviour was _wrongwrongwrong_ , probably the same part that was conjuring words like: _severe concussion_ and _seek immediate medical attention._

Stubbornly, he shooed away that annoying part of his brain and finished the task of getting to his feet. 

Big mistake, he would soon realise. In one big sway, Sickbay tilted and danced around him, his vision going oddly fuzzy and dull, and he found himself leaning against the biobed just to keep his balance. 

Something was pressing against his arm urgently and he turned slowly to face it, realising a second later with a jolt that it was not some _thing_ but some _one._ Her hair was blonde and her eyes blue, much like her uniform that was also, like his was, stained red. 

For some reason this sent a flash of panic through him. 

Was she hurt? Did she need his help? Who was she? 

_Christine,_ his mind supplied him, and, while that answered one of his questions, it did little for the others. Dimly, he became aware of the fact that she had been talking to him while he had been ruminating.

“What?” he snapped, effectively stopping her mid-word. He expected her to be angry, but her brows only furrowed further in concern, her grip still tight on his arm.

“I said, you need to come with me, Doctor. You're injured.” He glared at her for a second before he wrenched his arm out of her grip and pushed away from the biobed in one motion, refusing to let on just how much the room swam because of it. 

She seemed less than convinced, and he could see the beginnings of anger starting to peek through, but she was interrupted from saying anything more as the comm beeped out its ire. Grateful for the distraction but determined to keep it off his face, he reached around and silenced its screeching. 

Since when were those things so damn loud? 

“Yes?” he asked, vaguely aware that he usually answered with something else, but couldn't for the life of him remember what it was. 

A female responded, she sounded distressed, her voice tight and flighty.

“There’s been a collapse on deck five, section F, Doctor. Reports of several casualties that require a medical officer on site until Engineering can remove the debris.” Before Christine could get a word in edgewise, he answered the woman.

“Alright, I’ll be there in a second.” Even before he ended the call, he could feel Christine’s anger and incredulation like a wave behind him, threatening to drown him, but before it could crest, someone intervened.

“I need a nurse here!” Like a ghost, he was gone before she could turn back around, melting into the crowd that ebbed and flowed into Sickbay, snagging a medical scanner and a first aid kit as he went. 

Somewhere deep in his brain as he raced through the corridors, instinct being the only thing guiding him, he dimly noted that someone named Jim had his quarters on deck five. 

~

He smelt it before he saw it. The acrid smell of burning circuitry and hair. 

Or was it flesh? He found that in that moment he couldn't tell the difference. 

As he had been running, the ship had finished having its seizure, but they apparently weren't necessarily out of the woods yet as the klaxons still drilled into his head relentlessly. Skidding around a corner, uncaring of the poor ensign he nearly barreled over, he came within view of the damaged deck. 

The guts of the ship pooled out of the ceiling, one of the bulkheads having clearly decided that enough was enough and had collapsed in on itself, heedless of any squishy things that may have been in the way. 

He raced over to the nearest injured person, coming to crouch beside someone else who was also checking on them. 

_Minor burns. Shallow laceration, left forearm. Non-critical._

Without another word he stood up and left the two of them, swiveling around to briefly catalogue the rest of the people who must have been present when the deck collapsed. There were a lot of minor burns and a lot of them would be black and blue tomorrow, but none of them were really all that critical. 

Certainly not critical enough to warrant a doctor to be present. 

His eyes swept over the part of the corridor that had completely collapsed in, how foolish he had been to presume that they had managed to pull everyone out. 

Unceremoniously shoving useless bystanders aside, he crouched next to a man, the command gold of his shirt nearly entirely hidden by the giant metal beam that kept him pinned. A brief glance at the beam as the tricorder whirred away showed that simply lifting it and pulling him out wasn't an option; the metal having twisted itself over and around several other integral supports, rending it effectively into one solid piece. Nothing short of lifting the entire star ship or a laser cutter would get him free. 

The pinned man looked up at him, and something akin to fear consumed his face, presumably on the edge of panic from being in the process of being crushed. Leonard reached out with his injured hand, placing it lightly on the man’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. If he started squirming, he could upset the debris and make this ten times more unnecessarily difficult for everyone involved. 

“Stop squirmin’, you’ll just make it worse.” Leonard's accent was thick as he warned the man, his words slurring slightly as the end of one blurred into the next. 

“Bones?” the man responded breathlessly, completely ignoring his warnings in an attempt to take a deeper breath. 

He glared at him before he took a quick glance at the tricorder.

“You've broken four of your ribs, and you've cracked your sternum, so ease up on the talkin’, huh? Save your breath, kid.” He twisted around to shout back into the corridor. “And tell Engineering to hurry their asses up!” 

Satisfied that someone immediately scrambled towards the comm and started talking into it, he turned back to the man, who was staring at him with an expression that couldn't seem to decide between confusion and concern. Eventually it settled on concern, and the man immediately started trying to take in another deep breath so that he could talk. 

Leonard glared at him. 

“What’d I _just_ say?” The man stopped squirming, an almost sheepish look briefly overtaking the one of concern, but it was back before Leonard could blink. 

“Doctor, are ye alright?” Leonard startled and turned towards another man who had materialized at his elbow. Like the man beneath them, he was looking at Leonard with concern, yet Leonard couldn't care less because A) his shirt was red, and, more importantly, B) he had a laser saw clutched in his hands.

“I will be after you start using that fuckin’ thing.” 

The man hesitated for a second, blinking owlishly at Leonard as if he had just grown another head. 

_“What?”_ he seethed, ignoring the momentary blur to his vision as he glared at the man. “You want an engraved fuckin’ invatation? Do your job!” 

A heartbeat passed before the man jerked into action, activating the saw to begin freeing the gold shirt in front of them. 

Speaking of. 

Leonard turned back towards the trapped man, taking a brief moment to check with the tricorder, and once he realised that for some reason he couldn't quite read what it was telling him, he abandoned it with a huff. 

The trapped man seemed to take this the wrong way, because all of sudden he got really squirmy, and took in a deep breath before Leonard could glare at him to stop.

“Bones.” 

A rather distressing wheeze. 

“Head.” 

Leonard lurched forward, trying to feel in the man’s hair for whatever he was trying to get across. If the man had a head injury it would drastically change what he could administer and any potential long-term treatment. However, it must have been pretty mild; Leonard couldn't feel any bumps or cuts as he gently prodded the back of the man’s skull. 

“You're gonna be fine, Jim. I can't feel anything.” 

_Jim…_

The man’s name was Jim. 

_Jim_ was trapped under the rubble. 

Leonard had a mini heart-attack as that realisation only just now caught up to him. But, for some reason, though he could feel the panic mounting in him, it felt… distant. Fuzzy. 

Almost like he was only feeling the panic second hand. It was a disturbing sensation.

“No.” Jim shook his head a little. _No? What did he mean_ ‘no’? _What the hell was he playing--_

“The Captain is referring to your own head, Doctor.” Leonard startled again for a second time, really wishing that these _damn idiots_ would stop magically appearing just to scare another decade off his life. 

“I assure you, nothing about my appearance was magical.” Leonard stared at the newcomer, puzzled for a moment before he realised he must have just said that last thought aloud. 

“And that one, too, Doctor.” 

Leonard blinked. 

The man (no, not man, he had pointed ears) with the black and blue shirt shared a brief glance with Jim, before he turned back to Leonard, who didn't even have a moment to protest before pointy-ears laid his hand on Leonard's shoulder and everything promptly went dark.

~

Leonard came to slowly, the faint beeps around him seemed far away, muffled in a way almost as if he were underwater. Everything was too damn bright, this was made painfully clear as he opened his eyes and was practically blinded by the overhead lights despite him immediately closing them again. The sharp, present pain of it ripped his head out from underneath the watery blanket it was under, and he realised in dismay that everything _hurt._

Well, not strictly _everything._

There was a dull full body ache that seemed to cut through to his bones, but sitting proudly at the top were his wrist and his head, both of which ached terribly and throbbed in time with his heartbeat. 

He groaned, disentangling his good hand from the blankets to clutch at his head. 

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” someone warned to his right, and he froze, then cracked his eyes open a sliver so he could see who was talking to him, unable to place her voice through the fog that had settled deep in his brain. 

Christine stood next to his bed, gaze focused on the tricorder in her hand that whirred faintly, her mouth set into a grim line. After a moment she let her hand drop, taking the tricorder with it, and fixed a glare on him that was unerringly close to setting him on fire. 

“Name and rank.” She sounded livid, yet was clearly trying to hide it underneath a thin veneer of professionalism. 

He still heard it loud and clear.

“Leonard H. McCoy, Lieutenant Commander.” 

He paused for a moment. 

“Can you turn down the lights...?” She glared at him briefly, before swapping out her tricorder for a PADD, and activated the voice to text function on it.

“Patient appears alert and aware, reaction rate normal. Answered NR correctly and is cognizant of his surroundings.” A flick of her thumb turned the feature off again, and he barely had a second to brace himself before she hissed at him, “What the hell were you thinking?” 

He winced at her loud voice, the throb in his head picking up in tempo.

“Lights?” he asked again, this time far more meekly, and something in his demeanor must have been just pitiful enough for her to care, because after a moment of scowling she leaned over to press something and the lights suddenly became bearable. 

“Well?” Her voice brooked no argument, and he was wrong to think humour would go over any better. 

“Clearly I wasn't.” The half smirk died on his lips before it even had a chance to grace them as her glare went from angry to downright murderous. 

“Do you have _any_ idea how stupid your little stunt was?” she seethed, knuckles turning white around her PADD. “You seized _three_ times after Commander Spock thankfully brought your idiotic ass back to Sickbay. You had spinal fluid coming out your nose and you threw up on M’Benga. _Twice.”_

He shifted uncomfortably under the thin sheets, wishing that the bed would swallow him whole. Unable to bear her glare any longer, he looked away, twisting his good hand nervously into the sheet. 

A long and uncomfortable silence passed between them.

“How is Jim? Did they get him out fine?” She leaned back minutely, noting and disliking his attempt at changing the subject, but, oddly, let him do so.

“He’s fine, bone knitter got his ribs back in order, but the bruising is sure as hell gonna hurt for a bit. Commander Spock is fine, too.” 

Leonard blinked.

“Spock was injured?” She studied him for a moment, a sliver of concern peeking through the anger.

“Yes, apparently, according to Lieutenant Sulu, his console practically blew up in front of him. Second degree burns to forty percent of his chest and abdomen along with a sizable chunk of said console embedded in his shoulder.” 

He swallowed heavily, guilt snaking around in his chest and squeezing its slimy claws over his heart. 

Christine sighed a bit, the frown that settled on her face more resigned than angry. 

“I’ve already given him a stern talking to about him carrying you to Sickbay, but if you’d like another go at him, I won't stop you.” She held up her hand, effectively stopping him from immediately clambering out of bed. _“After_ I say you’ve healed, and not a moment before.” 

He knew better than to argue with her. She knew that, and she also knew that he had no desire to bait her into busting out the restraints. Which he knew from experience she was more than happy to do for her more boisterous and adventurous patients. 

However, if perhaps he slipped out of bed after he knew she was long gone… well, what she didn't know couldn't hurt her. 

~

Leonard tiptoed through the long term ward as quietly as he could on his scratchy medical issued slippers, braced arm bracketed in close to his chest. 

It had taken an embarrassingly long time to clamber out of bed, and he was infinitely grateful that it was the middle of the shift so that no one had to be witness to the awkward shuffle step maneuver he was currently pulling just so he could walk. 

The term ‘walk’ of course being used _very_ loosely in his case. 

However, the awkwardness of his current form of locomotion was of little importance, he was on a mission, and he was upright enough to achieve it. _What_ the mission was exactly… well, he hadn't really thought that far ahead yet, but he figured he’d have it sussed out by the time he got to his destination. 

In fact, if he strained his ears, he could just make out quiet whispers coming from said destination, which meant his current quarry had company. 

Nevermind who it was, so long as it wasn't Christine. 

Using the wall as his support he made his way just shy of the curtain, but abruptly stopped once the whispered conversation was loud enough to be heard over the pounding in his head. 

“I just… I can't get it out of my head.” Leonard could just make out the clatter of a chess piece being placed down.

“I will admit, it was rather distressing. Though, may I add, your own situation was no more relaxing.”

“I wasn't the one saying every word I was thinking, Spock. There was so much blood, I swear…” 

A pause. 

“...I could see his skull.”

“Nurse Chapel did mention that the laceration was deep, so it is very well possible.”

There was a pause, and then a broken, whispered, _“Fuck…”_

The rustle of sheets moving against one another sounded from just beyond the curtain.

“It is alright, Jim. Leonard will recover, Nurse Chapel said that he should awaken sometime today.” Spock paused, and he could almost imagine the raised eyebrow he was giving Jim, clearly exasperated at the illogicalness of whatever he was about to say next. “He will be back to grouching at us sooner than you think.” 

Jim huffed out a laugh, a small, bright speck of humour buried in it. 

Or at least, Leonard _would have_ imagined that exchange had his brain had not just gotten stuck on the fact that _Spock_ had called him _Leonard._ What baffled him even more was that his name was used in conjunction with Spock _comforting_ Jim. 

Spock pointing out Jim’s illogicalness? Sure. 

Spock berating a particularly hare-brained scheme? Expected. 

Spock _comforting_ Jim? He was running into some problems with that one. 

For one, even though he adamantly tried to clamp down on the feeling, jealousy still reared its ugly head. 

Jim went to _him_ for comfort. Leonard knew what would get Jim to calm down. Knew what to say whenever the pressures of being a starship captain got to be too much, when _\- god forbid -_ they lost a crewmember and Leonard knew exactly what that felt like, saying everything he wished that someone would say to him whenever he lost someone on the table or out in the field. 

Leonard was the comforter, the carer, in their relationship. 

So, yeah, it hurt a little to be replaced in one of the only things he was good for on this ship. 

And second, setting aside the obsolete feeling that was settling deep in his chest, Spock didn't just comfort _anyone._ He’d only seen it once before, and he was pretty sure it wasn't exactly meant for him to be privy to. 

Uhura had been injured, the local government having lovingly neglected to mention that the field they were walking through had once been a minefield, long abandoned, and thought to be inert, but very clearly not. 

She had barely escaped the encounter with both legs, though not for the landmine’s lack of trying. 

Leonard had wandered into Sickbay off duty on one of the nights that she had been there. He heavily suspected neither of them realised that he was there, but that didn't stop him from accidentally overhearing the hushed reassurances from Spock that she would be able to walk again, and that, in a rare show of outright admiration, he had said that Doctor McCoy would not rest until she could. 

Spock had been right, of course; he hadn't slept. 

The point being, Spock wasn't known for outbursts of compassion, he and Uhura had been together at the time, and Leonard was willing to bet a months worth of salary that it would take a similar connection for Spock to do that for someone else. 

Which meant… _fuck._

Guess his plan had worked, after all. The bet was his… yay? 

Leonard made sure that his retreat back to his bed was dead silent, and if maybe his vision was tear-blurred as he climbed back into bed? 

Well, he’d blame it on the pain. 

~

Jim and Spock didn't come and check on him for the rest of the day. 

He didn't know whether to be relieved or sad. 

He cried anyway.

~

Leonard had never claimed to not be a liar. 

So, when maybe he cheated a little on the cognitive awareness test so that he could finally get out of that damn bed, who’s to say he didn't warn them? 

Despite the overwhelming hypocrisy he was setting, he _needed_ out. 

He _needed_ to be doing something. 

He _needed_ to have his mind taken away from agonizing over a certain Captain and Commander. Being cooped up in that bed with nothing but his thoughts was doing no favours for his sanity. 

And he liked his sanity very much, thank you. 

Of course, while he had skirted the test a little, there was no skirting a fractured wrist, so despite his best efforts he was still placed on light duties only, which meant blasted paperwork and nothing else. 

He almost preferred the bed and his thoughts. 

_Almost._

But if, for the sake of his sanity, he had slipped out and checked on patients anyway? 

No harm, no foul. 

~

“Are you sure you should be up?” 

Of course Jim’s first thought would be to Leonard's safety. 

Nevermind the fact that Leonard was the one who was upright (barely) and wearing his own clothes (he’d tried to get into them for ten minutes and had had to take a break halfway through) out of the two of them.

“I’ve been given a clean bill of health.” 

Jim eyed the wrist that was still in the brace. 

“Unlike you.” 

Leonard pointedly eyed Jim’s ribs. 

After a moment passed, neither side giving up, Leonard aggravatedly shook his head, ignored the immediate wave of nausea and blurriness that caused, and stalked up to Jim’s bedside, pulling out his tricorder as he did so. He worked in silence for a few minutes, which was honestly fine by Leonard, the tacit reminder that Jim was still fine and not being crushed under a steel beam was more than enough for him. 

Clearly, it wasn't enough for Jim, though. 

Leonard was halfway through inspecting a bare-chested Jim, glowering at the abuse it had received, when Jim piped up. 

“How’s Spock doing?” 

Leonard ignored the fact that Jim had been talking to him just last night, and tried to maintain the professionalism he so desperately needed. 

“Commander Spock is healing from his injuries well, and, despite his being more severe, he’ll be released later today alongside you.”

“‘Commander’ Spock?”

“Are you not asking as his Captain?” Leonard tried desperately to keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

He really, _really_ did.

“Bones…” Jim’s trailed off admonishment was soft and there was something else swimming around in his eyes along with the hurt, but Leonard didn't have the chance to figure it out as he had promptly turned and walked a few steps away from Jim, fiddling with something that didn't really need fiddling with. 

“Did you both enjoy my dinner?” 

If Jim was surprised at his non-sequitur, he must have kept it to his face, for Jim didn't sound particularly surprised when he responded.

“Did you?” Jim countered after a beat. 

Leonard thought through the question for a second, and was surprised when the answer was actually relatively simple. 

Yes. Yes, he did. Despite what the dinner had represented, the answer was yes. 

It had been disgustingly domestic. And the worst part of it all was: Leonard _had_ liked it. No. He had _loved_ it. 

Just the three of them, no impending crisis, no Starfleet brass breathing down their necks, no diplomatic mission to prepare for. 

Just them. Talking, drinking, and enjoying each other’s company. 

His chest ached terribly at the admission, as though his withered old heart was complaining about having to realise that it still worked.

“Yeah. I did.” Jim was silent for a long stretch, and Leonard didn't dare breathe, lest he ruin the moment somehow. 

“Then yeah, we did, too.” 

He did twist around that time to stare confusedly at Jim, _what an odd thing to say._

The kid seemed happy enough, beaming at Leonard despite his odd words, as if their enjoyment of the night solely hinging on his was a normal occurrence. 

Which, while odd in its own weird way, was kinda… _sweet?_

God, maybe he shouldn't have faked his test; he clearly wasn't fit for duty yet if _those_ kinds of thoughts were still actively invading his head. 

Without realising it, in a rare moment of distractedness, a small exasperated smile had wormed its way onto his face as he had been thinking. As soon as he noticed, he was quick to cover it with a scowl, though he had a dreaded suspicion it did little to erase the underlying fondness behind the smile. 

Jim, the little bastard, only beamed at him harder, and Leonard was dismayed at the realization that his little slip up hadn't gone unnoticed. Scrunching his face up harder, despite the complaining ache in his forehead, Leonard huffed and rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he turned away from Jim again, lest his traitorous facial muscles betray him once more. 

“You're weird, kid.”

“Perhaps,” Jim considered, pausing as if in contemplation. “Would it make me more weird if I were to invite you to a thank-you dinner of my own?” 

Leonard turned his head enough to catch a glimpse of Jim out of the corner of his eye, to find him staring intently at Leonard, an uncharacteristic hesitance in his voice. 

His gaze snapped back to his hands faster than he liked to admit. 

“Thank-you?” He picked up his tricorder again, fiddling with the buttons to occupy his nervous hands. “For what? I wasn't the one to patch you up this time - though, I’m sure Geoffry and Christine would be free for dinner if you asked politely.”

“No, a thank-you dinner for your thank-you dinner.” 

Leonard frowned, turning enough towards Jim so that he saw it plainly. 

“As much as it pains me to quote a certain Vulcan, ain't that a bit illogical? When someone says thank you, the appropriate response is ‘you're welcome’, not _another_ thank you.”

“Come on, Bones. Was I wrong to think that you took pride in being illogical? If that's true, surely you'd jump at the chance to follow a thank you with another.” 

Jim seemed unwilling to let this one go, and Leonard wondered idly how far Jim would go; once Jim had his mind set on something, it wasn't a question of ‘if’, rather ‘when’. 

Which begged the question, why had Jim sunk his teeth so deep into the idea of them sharing another dinner? 

While thinking, Leonard hummed a little, hiking one eyebrow up before he answered. 

“There’s a difference between being illogical and just being an idiot… in saying that, while, yes, I do take pride in it, it's only because it gets Spock’s pointy ears in a twist. Not much fun in doing so if he isn't around to be annoyed.” 

“Spock can be there.” Make that the _three_ of them sharing another dinner. “You wouldn't have to worry about your illogicalness being wasted.” 

Leonard looked down at his hands again, staring vacantly at them as the guilt wormed its way through his heart. 

He needed to come clean; clearly the poor kid was getting his wires crossed, and Leonard continuing to lie about the true nature of his thank-you dinner was only going to dig him into a deeper hole the longer he told it. 

However, a small, selfish part of him drowned out the rest of his brain, begging him to continue his charade, regardless of where it ended up. For whatever reason, Jim had decided that he wanted to interact with not only Spock in that way, but with Leonard, too. 

A half dozen theories popped up, most of them circling back to two dominant ideas. 

Jim was trying to include Leonard in whatever he had with Spock, but was trying to do so in a way that third-wheeled him the least. Which was ridiculous; such a sentiment, however kind, could only last so long, and the fallout would leave Leonard in a worse position than if he had never indulged himself. 

Or Jim was just being weird, and that he was just trying to play a prank on Spock by irritating him with his so called ‘illogicalness’. Which… the more he thought about it, didn't make sense. 

Why phrase it like he wanted to have another dinner? Why not outright conspire with Leonard in a plot to annoy the Vulcan, rather than keeping him in the dark as well, considering Jim had made no mention of it being just a prank? 

Which meant that his two theories had dwindled to a sickening one. 

Leonard was many things, and one of them was being too prideful to accept platitudes in an attempt to spare his feelings. 

If Jim was trying to hold his hand while he and Spock became more of a thing, he might just bite it. 

He did not welcome pity handouts. 

Leonard looked back to Jim, to find far too much hope swimming in those beautiful eyes of his, trying in vain to keep it concealed, but failing miserably so. 

He couldn't do that to him, couldn't squash the hope that lit up those pretty eyes, even if it meant Leonard might never recover from the burn of having tasted what he wanted but could never have. 

A facsimile to placate him, and if he didn't keep his guard up, a facsimile that would ruin him. 

He let his eyes meet Jim’s, which had been silently watching him as he thought. 

_Just once,_ he thought, _just once, so that Jim can get it out of his system, and then I’ll tell him._

“Well, if _Spock’s_ gonna be there-” He sniffed for effect, ignoring the way Jim’s eyes lit up before he’d even finished his sentence, the kid having already read his tone loud and clear. “-I suppose I _could_ make it.”

“It's a date.” 

Leonard tried to contain himself at the grin Jim directed at him. 

~

Leonard wasn't getting a lot of work done, but not for the reason most would expect. 

No, he was _not_ arguing with Spock (despite what Jim claimed, they could exist in the same room without verbally sparring). In fact, the room was practically silent save for the occasional clink of glass on glass, Spock lightly typing away, and the ever present hum of the engines. 

However, despite him not being currently locked in mortal mental combat with Spock, he still wasn't getting a lot (read: nothing) done, because, well, even though he was _supposed_ to be studying the samples in front of them, he had instead found himself idly studying his lab partner. 

A lot of things recently just were not adding up. 

First, there was the whole debacle on Kotov VII (aptly renamed in his mind to ‘frigid snowball of near death’). Then, there was the fight with the Venirian rebels that had apparently stalked their ship for nearly a month before attacking. And now, finally, with Spock having agreed to _another_ dinner with Jim and himself. One, he could excuse, between Vulcan civility and his duty as a First Officer to keep his illogical Captain happy, but two? 

Once could be a mistake, but twice couldn't be a coincidence because Spock didn't let those happen. Coincidences just couldn't happen to the person who analysed every single minutiae of a situation to make sure that that particular mistake was never made again. 

Which was what made everything so much weirder. 

Jim coming up with hare-brained schemes was nothing new, but Spock _acquiescing_ to them? 

That was. 

Of course, now he knew the reasoning behind Jim’s schemes: they were together - or at least actively thinking about getting together - and they wanted to let Leonard down easy. Actually, now that he thought about it, it sorta made sense. 

Jim would try to spare Leonard's feelings (though not the feelings that Jim was thinking of, the ones he expected being no doubt much more platonic in nature), and Spock, not wanting to upset _Jim_ would go along with whatever the plan was. That made a lot more sense actua-

_“Doctor.”_ Leonard snapped back out of his thoughts, shamefully realising that quite a bit of time had passed, far more than he had intended. 

“Sorry, just spaced out for a moment,” he muttered, realising too late that perhaps he should have made a snappy comment to offset the _blatant staring_ he had been doing. 

_Whoops, too late now._

“I attempted to obtain your attention several times, Doctor. You were ‘spaced out’ for far more than a moment.” 

Spock regarded him carefully, a subtle tilt to his head not unlike the one he had employed while he had been studying the samples Leonard was supposed to have been studying. He had the distinct impression that every little bit of him was being catalogued and compared for ‘errors’ against Spock's own database of a ‘baseline Leonard’. 

“Perhaps I should alert Nurse Chapel, you clearly are not well enough to be on active duty.” 

Leonard was _well enough_ to snap back immediately, “I’ve already been given the all-clear. Don't you be wagging your finger in front of me about what I’m well enough or not well enough to be doing, Mister I-ran-around-playing-hero-with-second-degree-burns-everywhere.” 

Spock’s lips pressed together minutely - more of a twitch really - before they relaxed again. 

“I only had to ‘play hero’ as you say because you neglected to get yourself seen to, forcing myself to take drastic measures to ensure your safety.” 

Spock’s demeanour was dangerously close to something that could be labeled concern, so Leonard just scoffed and rolled his eyes, hoping to diffuse some of the unexpected tension that had clogged the room.

“Oh please, I was fine. That’s-”

“You were not,” Spock cut him off, jaw uncharacteristically tense as he turned away from the experiment fully, hands pressed together tightly. 

Leonard's brief stunned surprise was all Spock needed to continue. 

“It may not have felt like it from your perspective, but your injuries _were_ very severe, even compared to mine or the Captain’s. While yes, ours were not without note, yours could have been potentially life threatening had I not taken the actions I did.” 

Astonishment stole Leonard's words for a good few moments, but eventually, after a blink or two, his mind had caught up enough to form words again. 

Clearly, the connection between his mouth and his brain had still needed a few more moments, for the first thing out was a very bitter, “It couldn't have been that bad, considering neither of you came to see me.” 

Spock looked genuinely surprised for a single fleeting moment, his eyebrows shooting up to join his hairline, but it was quickly replaced with a slight frown, which meant he was practically scowling. 

“You think neither of us cared about your recovery?” Spock’s voice was deadly quiet, words clipped and smothered in cold professionalism. 

Very belatedly, Leonard realised that he’d pissed Spock off. 

Which meant that Spock had taken _offence_ at his perceived lack of interest. 

Which meant that not only did he, but he did to such a degree that any suggestion otherwise was insulting. 

“Well,” he scrambled for a defence, blurting out the first thing that came to mind (probably not a good idea given his recent track record), “Why didn't you visit, then?” 

Spock’s eyes narrowed minutely before a total body wave of calm seemed to wash over the Vulcan, erasing all outward traces of his previous agitation.

“We did, but you were asleep and had clearly been in a great amount of pain prior to our arrival. So, Jim and I thought it logical to let you sleep.” 

Leonard could only be grateful that they hadn't been there when he’d been awake and ‘in pain’. 

“Whatever happened to ‘Captain’?” he mumbled under his breath, not intending for Spock to catch it, but having failed to factor in his Vulcan ears. 

“As Jim and I were off duty at the time, our visit was personal. Thus, I assumed personal identifiers were appropriate.” 

Leonard looked anywhere but at Spock, feeling his cheeks traitorously heat up.

“Right…”

“Does that bother you? Us visiting you in an unofficial capacity? Or, is it that I called the Captain ‘Jim’?”

“I'm just… _surprised._ On both accounts… is all.” 

God, could he have said that any more lamely? 

Spock, to his credit, didn't seem phased, only giving a singular nod before he swiveled back to the experiment, resuming it as if nothing had happened while Leonard was left desperately trying to get his face to return to a normal colour. 

He turned back to the experiment too, but he was far too stunned to really be thinking about anything remotely related to work. 

Apparently, he couldn't leave well enough alone, because his mind kept flitting back to that frigid hell they'd been trapped on and a thought occurred to him, perhaps embarrassingly late.

“Hey, uh, Spock?” 

Spock’s delicate fingers stilled in adjusting the microscope, tilting his head in Leonard's direction to indicate he continue. Despite the agreement, or perhaps because of it, Leonard fidgeted for a moment, awkwardly wringing his hands for a moment. 

“What you were saying earlier, back after Kotov VII, about… uh…” Leonard floundered for a moment, and Spock, the pointy-eared bastard, did nothing but stare at Leonard. Squashing down the urge to swallow nervously, he pressed on, “Well, I know you went to Jim…” 

_Why does this have to be so damn difficult?!_

“But if you wanted to… _talk_ about whatever it was that was bothering you, well… I’m here. If you… wanna, y’know. _Talk._ About it.” 

God, if even _he_ was cringing at his own words, Leonard shuddered to think how bad it must have looked to Spock. Never before had he wanted to sink into the floor to never return so much in his life. 

For what felt like an age, Leonard resisted the urge to fidget nervously, studiously ignoring the half of the room Spock was in. 

“I would like that.” Heedless to any previous embarrassment, Leonard's head snapped up to stare at Spock, and… no, he wasn't going crazy. 

_Spock was smiling._

It was slight, but it was definitely there.

“I will discuss it with Jim, but I don't predict any resistance on his behalf.” 

_Discuss it with Jim…_ the words floated around his brain for a moment before the stark reality of the words crashed into him, setting him mentally falling, but outwardly he fought to keep calm. 

So _that’s_ what the dinner was about. 

Jim and Spock were going to tell him that they had finally gotten together. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Long time no see 😬  
> I apologise for the delay in uploads, this got completely forgotten about, if I'm honest, but from now on the updates should be more regular.  
> Also! Despite seeming to parallel recent events, the majority of this chapter was planned and written late 2019, so know that this was just an unfortunate coincidence and nothing more 😅

As it would turn out, third wheeling his two best friends’ coming out dinner would have to wait. Of course, predictably, everything would fall apart again just after he’d gotten it back together. 

It had gone okay for a few days, Jim and Spock had been released without incident or relapse, and his own injuries had cleared. In fact, things were actually going kinda great for those few days; Jim had an enthusiasm to him that was damn near infectious (in hindsight, Leonard would laugh later, once his lungs were no longer spasming) and it must have been some of Jim’s more potent stuff, because even Spock seemed to be a bit more… pleased? It was hard to tell with the Vulcan, but he got the distinct impression that Jim’s attitude was having some sort of positive effect on Spock. 

However, like all good things, it couldn't last. 

Jim had signed off on an away mission, and for once, it hadn't gone disastrously bad. Although that was almost to be expected as Jim hadn't put himself as part of the away team; that damn kid attracted trouble like moths to a flame. It was only once the away team came back did the problems start. 

It had started silently, as most disasters did. 

A fault in the tricorders. That was all it took. 

It had started with Ensign Jones the day after the away team came back. He had had a mild cold and a little bit of congestion. Spock had apparently had enough of his sniffling in Science and had sent him Leonard's way. 

Leonard was grateful, too damn often did those idiots ignore sickness or injury all because of some twisted sense of honour bound ‘duty’. Leonard would say it time and time again: mulishly staggering through afflictions was _not_ in the job description, no matter what they all stupidly believed. 

At the time, Leonard had thought very little of it; he’d given him a hypo for his breathing, and had settled him into a biobed, more than a little aggrieved at having to soothe the man’s fears about being made to stay in Sickbay, despite his reassurances that it was _just a precaution for God’s sake._ Jim was always harping on that his bedside manner could use some improvement, but Leonard liked it the way it was. 

By the time that Lieutenant Jackson and Ensign Macklin had staggered into Sickbay, Leonard had grown suspicious enough to alert Jim and to have him set up a quarantine. 

Three people, all in the same day, with nearly identical symptoms? Even if it was just a fluke, Leonard would better be safe than sorry. 

He would have preferred to have been wrong. 

Just once. 

However, his pleas went unanswered as people kept pouring in and Sickbay was quickly turned into a chaotic warzone. Predictably, they ran out of biobeds first. While their Sickbay _was_ top of the line - and huge by most ship’s standards - that didn't mean it could hold just under a third of the crew all at once. 

Suffice to say, Leonard wasn't happy when he was forced to house some of the sick in a nearby empty cargo hold. 

For one, it meant he had to split up his staff over two different areas, which in turn put even more strain on a crew that was already thinly spread. And another, reaction time was slowed if someone crashed, and despite his extraordinary talents, Leonard _could_ only be in one place at a time. 

His time was split between bustling about his wartorn Sickbay, trying in vain to stay on top of the some hundred and fifty odd patients they had, and fervently working on a vaccine that would prevent it from spreading to the rest of the crew. 

Silly things like sleeping and eating had fallen to the wayside almost instantly. 

Thankfully, the treatment was relatively simple; fluids, antibiotics, and rest until the symptoms passed. It was the _vaccine_ that had him hunched in front of his too-bright computer at some god-awful hour in the morning. 

He was pretty sure he was pushing hour twenty-eight of being on shift, alongside the early warning symptoms that he’d been ignoring of whatever weird and wonderful disease they had contracted this time, but neither of them hardly mattered - he’d finally done it. 

He stared at his monitor, not bothering to hide the wheezing cough that got caught by the mask. Quickly, he sent it off to the replicators - it would take at least a few hours to get them finalized and into people, so the sooner he started the better. 

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness hit him and in a vain attempt to ride it out his hands tightened around his desk until they were a stark white, not that he could see them very clearly, due in part to the worrying combination of blurriness and the darkness he had to have his office set at. In his head, he allowed himself to take a five minute breather, and, not trusting his own addled mind, he set a reminder on his monitor. 

After what seemed like a few seconds, it blared it’s obnoxious shrill tone directly into his ear and he struggled to pull himself to his feet, trying to use the back of his chair as a brace. Idly, he realised that he must have missed the chair, because he was now on the floor, but all of it hardly seemed to matter as he felt himself drifting. 

Well, as long as the floor was here, might as well make some use of it. 

It took only a second before unconsciousness claimed him. 

~

Christine cursed the amount of time it took for it to occur to her that she hadn't heard the grouching of a certain doctor in far too long. 

Sanchez had informed her that the vaccine had been completed, and she’d spent the next few hours giving it to every crew member who had had the fortune of escaping the sickness that had swept the Enterprise. By the time she finally had a chance to breathe, she looked around, hoping to snag a certain doctor and politely hypo his ass so that the man was forced to rest. 

She hated how hard he pushed himself, almost to the point of ludicracy; the man was a damn masochist, and not the fun kind. 

Her mind flickered back to two other morons, who frequently popped up in her thoughts alongside her irascible CMO, and she found her jaw clenching despite herself. Why, oh, why did they all have to be pig-headed idiots? Completely and utterly blind, the lot of them.

Shaking her head, she entered McCoy’s office, and felt her heart jump into her throat at what she found. 

~

Jim rubbed at his arm absentmindedly, M’Benga sure was a lot softer with his hyposprays, but he still found himself missing the exasperated glare that should accompany them despite the rougher handling that came with. Spock stood impassively to his left, having yet to receive his vaccine, and even if he would claim otherwise, Jim knew him well enough now to know that the ‘impassiveness’ was just a front. 

They’d both hardly seen Bones over the past several days as the disease had ravaged the ship, and while Jim knew it had put a significant dent in their plans, he was nothing if not optimistic. Despite the grim and dour circumstances - he’d never much liked it when his crew was in danger - he still felt a small smile creep onto his face. 

Bones had agreed to another dinner and, from the intel that Spock reported back with, was interested in their odd behaviour. Coupled with the fact that Bones had initiated the first dinner (he still had some suspicions regarding that, as did Spock, it felt _too_ purposeful to be a simple thank-you dinner) and both Jim and Spock were pretty confident in taking the next step. 

Predictably, Spock had initially wanted to go for a straightforward approach; sit Bones down, explain their feelings, and hope for the best. Jim was abhorred that Spock would think such a plan was acceptable. 

For one, it could have just as easily scared him off as it could have had Bones dragging them both to Sickbay for a psych eval. The man was ridiculously stubborn when it came to accepting that his gruff demeanor fooled absolutely no one and that people read the care behind his acidic grouching loud and clear. 

And for two, despite it being a bit of a silly notion, Jim believed Bones deserved better than that. He knew how badly his divorce had scarred him, no matter what Bones claimed otherwise, and so a part of him wanted it to be… _special._

(Spock had pointed out that it _would_ be special, regardless of any extravagances, as it was coming from them. Jim had just glared at Spock until he had stowed that particular argument.) 

And now, after nearly a month's worth of work, Operation: Doctor Lovebird (or _‘Agapornis iatro’_ as Spock liked to refer to it) was nearing fruition. The smile on his face only grew as Spock edged almost imperceptibly closer to him, a tacit reminder of what had occured when the operation was just being born.

~

Jim had only just eased onto the bed when the intercom at his door buzzed, indicating someone wanted to enter. He had a pretty good idea who that someone was. Bones had already released all of his pent up ranting and worrying as he was patching Jim up, so it was unlikely to be him, and everyone else would _(should)_ be getting some rest. 

One person in particular, however, would have just gotten off shift.

“Enter.” Spock strode in before the doors had even fully opened, coming to a parade rest just inside his quarters, the doors sliding shut with a muted hiss behind him. Jim sat, shirtless, on his bed as the silence between them ensued. 

Jim was nearly always the one who broke it first. 

“Come to make sure I’m still alive?” Spock seemed to understand the invite for what it was, and moved further into his quarters, perching lightly on the chair next to his desk. 

“I was never in doubt about that, you have an almost unnerving ability for both getting into and out of dangerous situations. I merely wished to ascertain your condition.” His head tilted ever so slightly, eyes equal parts sharp and soft at the same time as he stared at Jim from across the dimly lit room.

“You could have gone to Bones if that was all you wanted.” He paused purposefully. “It's okay to admit you're checking in on me, Spock.” Jim grinned, waving one of his hands towards Spock, despite the ache in his arms, when Spock’s mouth opened to retort. “I know, I know, ‘worry is a human emotion’.” He winked, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes. “Your secret is safe with me.” 

Spock’s mouth formed into an unamused, thin line for a moment before he spoke.

“As I had no wish to be verbally berated by Doctor McCoy, whose irritableness would have increased sixty-three point four percent due to recent events, I decided to forgo him and instead go directly to the source.”

“Oh, come on.” Jim rolled his eyes despite the pressure in his head. “You know he’s just worried.”

“Nonetheless, I have no desire to be on the receiving end of the doctor’s ‘worrying’.”

“Secretly, you love it.” Spock’s tilted head was just shy of actual disappointment, but after a moment of it, his features smoothed back out into neutrality. 

“And how is your condition, Captain?” Spock reiterated, trying to steer the conversation back to his original query. The fact that it also neatly side-stepped Jim’s claim was a completely unintended by-product.

“Please, _‘Jim’_. I’m half naked, we’re in my quarters, and both of us are off duty.” Jim could have sworn Spock’s eyes briefly flitted to his chest as he mentioned it, but the half light of the cabin made it hard to tell. 

“Your condition, then, Jim?” Upon being reminded, his body ached its displeasure, none too happy at the beating it had received. He shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure on his injuries. 

“Mostly superficial. The rebels weren't trying to damage me, they just wanted me to look as roughed up as possible. I suppose they figured if their demands were met, it would reflect poorly on their cause if I came back half dead. Plus, it would leave more room for retaliation from the crew.”

“That is pleasurable to hear, Jim. It would be most… regrettable if I had to seek retribution for their actions against you.”

“Regrettable, huh?” Jim let out a slight chuckle, surreptitiously clutching at his ribs as they voiced their annoyance at being moved. “I suppose that could be worse.” 

Spock rose from his chair, and, for a brief moment, Jim worried that Spock was going to leave, that his little joke hadn't been received well. However, Spock instead moved closer, coming to a stop next to his bed, his gesture a simple ‘may I?’. Spock sat down after Jim inclined his head slightly, puzzled yet intrigued as to where this was going. 

“It _would_ be regrettable, Jim, for that would mean that you had been gravely injured.” 

“And you find such a scenario regrettable? My being ‘gravely injured’.”

“Do you think I wish harm upon you, Jim?” Spock’s back straightened slightly and Jim was quick to answer, the beginnings of panic forming in his chest.

“Of course not, Spock.” A sly grin wormed on his face. “It's just nice to have proof that you care, I'm sure Bones will be elated at this revelation.” 

“I do find it concerning that you seem to find joy in the Doctor being happy to have another piece of evidence with which to ‘torment’ me.”

“Ah, so you admit it?” 

Spock paused, as if he was thinking the question over with the same intensity as one would a particle physics problem.

“No, I was merely stating that the Doctor would see ‘your proof’ as further evidence for his arguments, I was, however, not making a claim on whether or not your perceived evidence was indeed factual.” 

Jim just grinned back at him, and he got the distinct impression that Spock was wondering if he had actually won that argument. Silence descended upon them again, but it was short lived as Jim cleared his throat, Spock’s attention snapping back to him.

“If you're gonna stay here, could you help me with something?” Spock jumped to his feet, gaze expectant. Jim had to fight the resulting chuckle that threatened to escape. 

“Of course, Jim.” He waved Spock off before the Vulcan could straighten his back even more.

“Nothing like that, I was just wondering if you could help me into a shirt to sleep in.” Spock was quick to grab the gestured shirt, but paused just out of arm's reach.

“Are you sure you would not rather I call a nurse? I do not wish to aggravate your injuries.”

“My injuries are going to get aggravated regardless, and if you call someone I’ll be sitting here for a good five minutes just waiting for them to get here.” A slight sheepish look overtook his features, but he refused to be cowed by it. “I’d like to get to bed sooner rather than later and besides-” He flashed Spock his most dazzling grin. “-I’m sure you’ll do fine.” 

Spock looked less than convinced, but seemed to accept Jim’s words for what they were. 

It hurt like a bitch, but it hurt a little less when Spock’s cool hands accidentally brushed against Jim’s back as he helped with his shirt. Perhaps it was a little perverse that Jim had asked for Spock’s help solely on the off chance that they might accidentally touch, but Jim was far too achy and tired to care at this point. It was getting ridiculous the lengths he was starting to go to, he didn't even usually sleep with a shirt on for crying out loud! 

Spock seemed oblivious, as he usually was, as Jim eased back into the pillows, starting to really feel the oppressive tiredness tugging on his bones. 

“Do you require anything else?” Despite Spock’s open words, he was already moving away, and some stupid part of Jim’s brain didn't like that, so, without thinking, his hand shot out to grasp at Spock’s to keep him from going any further. 

Time seemed to slow down for a few seconds as Jim basked in the sensation of holding Spock’s cool hands, but the bliss was abruptly cut short as he realised the implications of what he had just done. Fear jolted through him, burning away the tiredness as he snatched his hand back, eyes wide with guilt as he scrambled into a more vertical position on his bed.

“Shit, Spock, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to do that.” The words fell out of his mouth in a rapid jumble, trying desperately to get the apology out of his brain before Spock could leave. Spock seemed frozen for a second, and Jim could practically hear the gears screeching away in his head, trying to analyze and identify the right response for the situation. 

Imagine Jim’s surprise when Spock seemed to snap out of it, and instead of moving away in disgust, stepped closer, bringing a hand to rest on Jim’s shoulder.

“It is alright, I do not mind.” As if to cement his words, Spock picked up Jim’s hand again, holding it clearly but loosely, giving Jim an easy way to disengage the contact if he so desired. 

Jim couldn't have ended the contact even if he wanted to (he didn't) as his brain was too busy trying to work past the fact that _Spock was holding his hand._

“Spock, you don't have to... I shouldn't’ve-I don't want you to be uncomfortable or feel obligated to--” The hand holding Jim’s tightened slightly for a brief moment, effectively putting a stop to his rambling. His breath caught in his throat as he stared, wide-eyed at Spock, presumably because his heart had decided it wanted to be lodged there instead of it’s usual residence in his chest.

“I do not feel uncomfortable nor are my actions borne from obligation. I am doing this because I wish to.” 

Jim blinked, all of his mind practically shorted out except the bit that was responsible for touch in his left hand. 

“What.” Now Spock chose to look reticent, glancing away for a moment before turning back.

“I apologise if I am being too forward, but I found the moment too opportune to ignore.” Spock’s index and middle fingers rubbed gently against the inside of his wrist, almost hesitant at first, before they boldened into a light caress. 

After a few more seconds of Jim doing nothing but staring blankly at their joined hands, Spock stopped, and Jim had to fight back an unexpected whine at the loss of movement. 

“Am I being too forward?” The clear nervous note to his voice was enough to snap Jim back somewhat into reality.

“No!” He winced at the squeak of his voice, cleared it, and started again. “No, you're not. I-can you do that again?” The corner of Spock’s mouth quirked in the way that meant he was fighting a smile, but nonetheless he resumed the slow rub of his two fingers along the inside of Jim’s wrist, and Jim didn't bother trying to hide the pleased rumble that bounced around his battered chest. 

It felt… Jim was at a loss as to how to adequately describe it. 

Nice felt too hollow and silly, satisfactory was just too Spock-like, and pleasant was how he typically described a chat with Sulu. None of it really captured what it felt like - it just felt _right._ But no matter how right it felt, there was still something missing. 

Or more accurately, some _one._

“I can feel your dissatisfaction.” Jim’s eyes flew open, not having realised he’d even closed them to find Spock staring at him, something close to worry swimming in his eyes (even though he would almost certainly claim otherwise). 

“No-” Jim tightened his fingers around Spock’s hand to prove his point. “-I… I just feel like something’s… _missing.”_ Spock astute as ever, merely nodded.

“You are referring to Leonard.” Jim tried to keep the surprise off his face.

“I… yeah.” Despite the situation, a frown crept onto his face, a faint, vague thread of worry wormed through his gut at Spock’s unnerving ability to know what was on his mind. 

The fingers on his wrist stilled.

“I was not peering into your thoughts. I had merely already come to that conclusion prior to this moment.”

“I wasn't saying that you were--”

“I know that you were not accusing me, I only wished to dispel your fears. I would never do something like that without your explicit permission.” Jim idly wondered what Spock _could_ pick up passively, without being invasive, but decided to stow that for a later conversation. After a moment of heavy silence, he realised with a jolt that Spock was waiting for confirmation which Jim was quick to give in the form of a jerky nod.

“No, I know that, Spock.” To prove his point he moved his fingers lightly against Spock’s wrist, a mirror to what Spock was doing, and Spock let the moment pass, resuming his own motions. “But, yeah, Bones.” Jim had to duck his head, a shameful blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I’m not saying that… I just…” He felt incapable of finishing the sentence in a way that was not embarrassingly lame. 

“I had suspected, and I feel similarly.” Jim’s head snapped back up.

“You do…? Did…? Whatever.”

“Yes, your actions towards him could only be construed as something deeper than friendship, as for my own, well. I must admit I did not realise it at first, but without realising I found I had begun to anticipate our arguments and daily interactions, and, despite the seemingly acidic nature of it, found myself eagerly awaiting the next one.” 

“I knew that it wasn't just bickering! Even a _blind man_ could see you two were flirting like crazy with each other.” Jim relished in the light green dusting that adorned Spock’s cheeks, and he made a vow to himself to make it happen as often as possible.

“I was not aware that I was being that obvious.” Spock was adorable when he got nervous. It was almost a _sin_ how adorable he was.

“Well, clearly you need to be more obvious.” A dark pair of eyes snapped up to his, an unspoken question behind them. “That is, if we’re going to woo him.” The end of his sentence was punctuated with another rather substantial yawn, the excitement and ordeal of his day and Spock’s soothing ministrations finally catching up to him. 

“Jim, I do not believe that is wise. Besides, I think this would best be a discussion for another day. You are still recovering from your injuries and require rest.” In an attempt to stifle any arguments before they could happen, Spock started easing Jim back into the pillows, pulling the sheets up to his chin. An affronted grumble left Jim, but he let Spock tuck him in, both not having the energy to say otherwise, nor the will to stop Spock’s rare display of tenderness. 

Despite that, a question still weighed far too heavily on his mind for him to ignore.

“Spock, I…” he trailed off, not quite sure that he really wanted to ask that question now that he had a moment to think, despite the twist in his gut as the weight that had settled in it got heavier. 

_I can ask about that later, not now. Not while I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. Besides, if I’m wrong, I’d rather indulge in this moment for as long as possible._

Unfortunately for him, his mouth had still decided to open and garner Spock’s attention before his brain was able to catch up.

“Yes, Jim?” he asked, head tilted ever so slightly, his fingers never once stilling. 

“I want to kiss you.” Spock’s surprise was clear in the momentary twitch of his eyebrows, his eyes flickering a shade darker for a brief moment. 

The statement wasn’t _quite_ the question that was on his mind, but it certainly wasn’t a lie, either.

“Like this?” Spock ventured, shifting his fingers from Jim’s wrist and up to his palm, stopping briefly to trace the lines worn there before moving to his fingertips, gently rubbing the pads in a circular motion. The light touch felt electric, jolts of pleasure racing up his arm and punching directly into his brain, leaving him pleasantly breathless despite the lack of exertion on his behalf. Spock’s eyes were locked on him, no doubt cataloguing and memorising every slight shift and satisfied hum, and he seemed pleased with what he saw. 

Once Jim had caught his breath again, which took far longer than he’d have liked (damn ribs), his eyes could finally focus back on Spock, who seemed to have been waiting for his undivided attention before resuming whatever he had planned next. 

“Or like this?” he breathed out, voice scarcely above a whisper as he leaned in, eyes fluttering to half mast as he pressed a feather light kiss to Jim’s lips. He arched into the kiss, pressing his lips against Spock’s and trying to ignore the way his entire body complained at the tension that snaked through him. However, before he could tilt his head and deepen the kiss, Spock moved back once more, pupils blown and staring at his lips before they managed to drag themselves back up to look Jim in the eye. 

Jim didn’t bother to contain the half-growl that left his throat as he sank back into the bed. He wanted _more,_ damnit! 

After a moment or two of heavy silence, he belatedly realised that Spock had actually asked a question or two somewhere in between all of that and apparently expected it to be answered, judging by the raised eyebrow. 

“E-Either…?” Jim stuttered, forcing the words out past the lips _that Spock had just kissed._ He was sure that’d become a normal statement at some point, instead of something that was exclusively found locked away in his most unprofessional of fantasies. He sure as hell hoped so at any rate. “Or both…? Both would be good.” He nodded determinedly, before a decidedly _improper_ thought flashed across his mind. “In fact…” he started, the beginnings of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

Spock was quick to shoot him down.

“I do not believe that would be wise,” he warned, the raised eyebrow arching into something decidedly more critical.

“Why not?” Jim asked, most definitely not with a whining note.

“You and I both know you are in no state to be tempting Leonard into bringing his full wrath down upon you,” Spock reasoned, well, _reasonably._

Suddenly, he gained a whole new appreciation for the way Bones chose to deal with Spock on a regular basis. 

This was no fun at all. 

Jim harrumphed, mouth twisting irritably for a moment before another yawn decided to mock him further.

“As I was saying before, you require rest.” To punctate his sentence, he rearranged the covers on Jim’s bed with one hand, the other still firmly in his grasp and brought the blanket up to his chin. 

After Spock had finished, there was an air of awkwardness that followed the pause, Spock neither moving away nor making any move to settle in.

“Stay?” Jim suggested, trying to keep the hopefulness out of his voice. “At least until I fall asleep?” he amended nervously when Spock didn't move or say anything. 

“Alright, I shall stay.” Jim beamed sleepily at Spock as Spock, in a display of athletic grace, hooked his boot around Jim’s chair, and pulled it to Jim’s beside without breaking his grip. 

“You’ll have to teach me that one day…” Jim mumbled, half asleep as his eyes drifted shut, his breathing evening out. 

A ghost of a pressure graced his cheek, and when Spock spoke his voice was barely above a whisper next to his ear.

“Sleep.” 

And Jim did. 

His dreams were indistinct, fuzzy, and unclear. But no matter where his subconscious took him, Bones and Spock were never far behind.

~

Leonard was drowning. 

Or he was dreaming. Or perhaps it was both. 

Regardless, some small logical part of his brain told him that was impossible (oddly, it sounded a lot like Spock) but that did little to allay his panicked flailing. The sea stretched on endlessly, crashing into itself with a roar, flashing an emerald green where the twin suns glittered off the water. Each sun seared its own wrath into his face, unhindered by even a wisp of a cloud as they hung in a blood red sky. 

For but a moment, his head dipped under the brine, the water oddly sweet on his tongue as he fought desperately to surface again. 

Something wrapped around his legs, his head snapping down as an undulating dark mass clung onto his leg, yanking him away from the surface. A rush of bubbles left his lips, panic turning his movements frantic as he desperately tugged at the formless limb wrapped around his leg. Unrelenting, it pulled him down lower, almost unnaturally quick, the light failing to reach far enough down to stave off the murky darkness that he had been pulled into. 

Unable to hold his breath any longer, he reflexively breathed, the panic rooting itself in every fibre of his being as his lungs greedily sucked in anything but air. Oddly, his lungs did not burn as the water settled in them, nor did they spasm to both simultaneously exhale the foreign matter lodged there or inhale for the oxygen he so desperately needed. In fact, as the water sloshed around his lungs and the light above him quickly faded, until it winked out entirely to leave him in utter pitch black, a strange calm washed over him, the previous all-consuming panic reduced to nothing but a bitter taste in the back of his throat. 

The _thing_ released its grip on his leg, perhaps sensing that he would no longer try to fight it, and moved up until it was eye to eye with him (or at least he assumed, it was difficult to make out anything for certain in its form). Then, all of a sudden it too winked out, pulling back and seamlessly melting into the black fog that surrounded him, leaving him completely and utterly alone. 

And then all of a sudden he was very much not alone. 

The phantoms floated in and out of the dark, chasing each other and overlapping before slipping back out of view. 

Jim was first - as even in the darkest and deepest corners of his mind, that man always managed to rush in first and be in the lead - celebrating his birthday that Leonard may or may not have forgotten to invite him to. The memories (because they could be nothing else) played like an old-fashioned holovid, and Leonard felt strangely detached from the events, despite him being present for each and every one. 

Not long after, Spock joined, like the loyal First Officer that he is, never far behind from his Captain. They’re sitting in Spock’s quarters, just the two of them, no doubt bemoaning about some stupid thing Jim has done this time, drinking a tea he can only vaguely recall on his tongue despite the visual reminder. 

Then it's him and Jim, both of them wasted beyond belief before they crash in what must have been their hotel room for the night, neither sober enough to care which bed they ended up in. 

After that, it's back to him and Spock, baking an apple turnover because Jim had been having a bad week and they knew just how to cheer him up, even if Leonard was going to have to take it out of his diet card later (Leonard felt like the reason was important at the time, but as with each memory that passed, it felt like he was only getting an impression, a ghost, of what had actually happened). 

Predictably, it morphs into all three of them _\- together -_ side by side. 

Away missions gone wrong, shore leaves cut short, and peaceful star-gazing interrupted by the latest alien idiot all blurred together into one dizzying mess, the three of them the only thing remaining constant. 

He tried to call out to them, this Jim and Spock that seemed to be trapped in his mind, half forgotten and marred by age, specifics lost to time and the fallacies in human memory, but he knew it was useless. That Jim and Spock were just as unreachable as the twin suns that hung somewhere above his head; too high for him to reach, and him, too low for their light to pierce the darkness that had claimed him. 

But that did not stop him from trying, because even as Leonard spiraled further and further out of control, even as he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper (which shouldn't be happening; that thing, whatever it was, was gone, wasn't it?), they were the only things he could rely on. 

Jim and Spock. 

But, why did he feel like he could see their faces staring down at him, through the blur, and yet all he could feel was regret?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, some eagle-eyed viewers might recognise a few references to other McSpirk fics sprinkled throughout Leonard's dream, so if you notice any of them, let me know 👀  
> I'mnotentirelysureifanyonewillgetanyofthem,sincethey'renotexactlyunique,soifyouguyshavenoideawhatI'mtalkingabout,don'tworry


End file.
